


Legend of Zelda: Prince of Ruin

by RedDingo



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Horror, Romance, Suggestive Themes, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedDingo/pseuds/RedDingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years since he returned, the boy is once again a man. He now rides as a knight of Hyrule to make peace with the Gerudo. For the sake of peace, he agrees to help them plunder an ancient city, once lost to the sands. However, an evil still lurks within the derelict capital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Foreword:** I started this story back in 2006 and I didn’t bother to finish it. Now I’ve rewritten the first chapter and I’m going to try and finish it this time. I’ve also posted it on Zelda Universe so hopefully that will be twice the incentive to do so.

  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing belonging to the Zelda franchise and seek no form of monetary gaining in the writing of this story.

 

_Prince of Ruin_

 

Chapter 1

  
  
They rode out at dawn from Castle Town’s west gate. Four riders and one knight who led them all cantered in a single file formation following the cobble stone path from the drawbridge. Around midday, they reached the cross roads where travelers normally take the southern route towards Lake Hylia. They simply went forward on the dirt path leading further west to the edge of Lanayru province. By sunset, they reached a camp site some ways off the path. By sunset, they set up camp some ways off the path, for which Byron could not be more grateful.  
  
His muscles ached from such a long ride. His back was stiff from holding straight with a shield strapped to his back. His face still burned from bathing in the summer sun. Byron’s first day riding with his new company, and this was already the furthest he had ever been from home. Then he remembered that they still had four more days of riding west and he patted his hand on the satchel tied to his waist which held his most cherished keepsake, a Keaton doll his mother had once made for him as a child.  
  
They tethered their horses, save the captain’s, and built a fire. The captain rode off on his own as he liked to do, or so Byron’s fellow riders informed him, leaving the company to their own devices. Fezzik sat on his mat with a whet stone in hand, honing his knife, which had a two handed grip and a blade nearly as large as he was. Old Gremio played a song on his lute called _Ode to the Dragon’s Roost_. Lysander sat on a stump by the fire cooking a stew.  
  
“I didn’t pick up the skill until I met up with this lot,” he told Byron as he stirred. “We all take turns cooking, even the captain. I have to say that I’d prefer cooking for a comely lady though. Best way to a woman’s heart and her bosom.”  
  
“Lysander!” Fezzik spoke up in that rumbling, booming baritone voice of his. “Keep those vulgarities to yourself. We don’t need our green recruit thinking  
ev’ryone in this company is a lecher or a cad, yeah?”  
  
“All the chivalry in the world won’t get you anywhere with those sissies in the Royal Guard, Goron-face.”  
  
Fezzik’s eyebrows twitched at the jab. Though he was a Hylian, the mountain man was built like a mountain. If Byron had to guess he would say that mountain was just seven inches shy of seven feet tall. He was just as generously matched in height by width which was nigh completely muscle. His face looked like someone carved it from a rock with a square jaw and a nose that straightly sloped from his brow. Lysander must be mad to taunt this giant.  
  
“Perhaps we could better acquaint ourselves with the new rider instead of our usual squabble?” said Gremio. “It might make him a little less frightened to deathly silence. What say you, son?”  
  
Byron blinked and took nearly a beat before realizing the question was directed at him. So, for the first time that night, he spoke, “Ummm sure.”  
  
So each rider recounted how he joined this motley crew to Byron. Gremio started off. He was formerly a sheriff in a little town in Faron. He had met the captain before the company was formed. They tracked a band of Bokoblins who raided the town larder and abducted several women and children. The old man was specifically recruited for the company on request of the knight. Lysander was from Bippin Village somewhere in Lanayru. He had been making a living as a huntsman for the lord of their fiefdom. Then the noble caught wind that he had been skimming some of the meat from his kills and selling it to the local butchers, so he was given the choice of losing his hand or putting his fine marksmanship to use in the Hylian Guard.  
  
“Not fancying dismemberment, I chose the latter,” said Lysander as he poured a bowl of stew and handed it off to Byron.  
  
Fezzik was the son of a retired knight that lived in a settlement on the northern mountains just outside of the Kingdom proper. When he came of age, he descended from his mountain home to Castle Town for a royal tourney and bested every competitor in combat dueling. For the winner’s favor, he requested to be put into service of the kingdom’s finest knight.  
  
“And you, son?” said Gremio. “What’s your story?”  
  
Once again caught off guard, Byron tried to think of the best way he could tell his story. A way that could stand with the fanciful tales that the other riders regaled him with, but in the end, the best he could say was, “My father was just a watchman of the Hylian Guard in Kakariko. Then one day, he was a knight for services to the kingdom that even he didn’t realize he had done. So I was later sent to Castle Town to begin my training as a rider.”  
  
“Oh, so you’re aimin’ for knighthood like me then, yeah?” said Fezzik jovially.  
  
“Uh…yes I suppose.” That was what they kept telling Byron as they instructed him in the knightly ways. He had been taught all the basics of melee, archery, and horsemanship in the Castle Town Barracks, though he never fought in actual combat yet. However, he always felt too out of place during the time he spent there. To be honest, he was beginning to feel the same about this lot too. “So what’s the story behind our leader then?”  
  
“Who, the cap’n?” said Fezzik.  
  
Byron nodded. Everyone and their mother knew of that man. He was called the Hero, the Green Knight, the Forest Swordsman, or the Ocarina Rogue. No one really knew where he had come from. They say he had just one day emerged from the Lost Woods and set about Hyrule, fighting off bandits and monsters that plagued the kingdom and he was knighted for his service to the Royal Family. In Byron’s hometown, they said the Green Knight had become sworn brothers with the chief of the Rock-Eaters in Death Mountain. In the barracks of Castle Town there were rumors that he had rescued a Zora princess but broke her heart when he refused her hand in marriage, so she had commanded that all of her subjects spit in his face when they come across him.  
  
The one that Byron found most funny was of how he entered the house of this one woman uninvited, broke all of her clay pots and just left without giving her a moment’s glance. True or false, famous or infamous, nearly every corner of Hyrule had its own unique tales about the man that ranged from courageous to bawdy to downright silly. The strange and wild knight had such a reputation that Byron was one part excited and two parts terrified upon learning that he was to serve in this company. He least expected that his captain would be almost as young as he was.  
  
Fezzik shrugged, “Don’t know too much ‘bout where he came from. Sure you heard plenty of stories bout the cap’n, yeah?”  
  
“Want to know whether they’re true or not?” asked Lysander. Byron then realized that these men had been asked every question he could think of before. “Well he does seem to be Zelda’s favorite knight. I’m willing to bet that she has him visit her bed chamber regularly during our nights at the Castle.”  
  
“Stop slanderin’ our cap’n and our princess with your perverted fantasies, Lysander!” Fezzik nearly shouted. “You know he already has a gal he’s sweet on.”  
  
Lysander grinned. “Well, she always has him escorting her to those banquets, feast, and dances whenever he’s available to. I mean there’s gotta be some reason she likes to have him around her.”  
  
Byron felt his cheeks grow red. He heard those rumors as well though he had not the courage to ask about them.  
  
“Only a cad like you thinks like that,” Fezzik turned to Byron. “So what do you think about the cap’n so far?”  
  
“I guess I expected him to be a bit…older.”  
  
“Indeed, he is quite young for a man of his rank,” said Gremio. “But he speaks and fights like a man who’s seen more than he possibly could in the years he’s lived.”  
  
“All you need to know is that he prefers not to be called ‘sir’, he doesn’t like wearin’ any more armor other than a chainmail vest under his tunic, and he’s the only man in the kingdom worthy of bein’ called a knight.”  
  
“Which is probably why the rest of the bloody court wants him dead. I mean while they are prancing about in shiny clothes, this left handed, weirdly dressed man rides across the kingdom actually solving problems. So they send him on quests they think will kill him,” said Lysander.  
  
“Is that why they’re sending us to the desert?” Byron asked.  
  
“Might be it is. Or they’ll hope we’ll desert in the desert so they have a reason to kill us if we ever come back. It’s not just the captain they want to get rid of. I mean none of us are the kind of folk them nobles like inviting to their fancy balls and the like.”  
  
Byron’s stomach turned. In the barracks, he had been mocked for his common background plenty of times. He learned to weather those slights. The fact that someone would send him to his death for it was another story entirely. If they did not want him to be knight, why did raise his father in the first place? Nobles are so…scary.  
  
Noticing Byron’s discomfort, Gremio ceased playing his lute. “For the love Nayru, Lysander, I wanted to help the lad feel more welcome, not terrify the day lights out of him.”  
  
“Maybe you ought to keep your trap shut fer once, yeah?” said Fezzik.  
  
Lysander shrugged, “I guess I’m better at talking to women.”  
  
“Heh, yeah keep telling yourself that.”  
  
“While we’re on the subject of scaring people, how many babies and ladies flee at the sight of your ugly mug, Goron face?”  
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
“Are you deaf or is all that muscle just clogging your ears, Goron-face?”  
  
“Say. That. One. More. Time...”  
  
There was a moment of silence around the camp fire, though Byron would hardly call it peaceful. Fezzik and Lysander had rose to their feet and stared each other down. Time seemed to slow down as if waiting for the latter to utter his next word. When he did, it was as if he roused an avalanche.  
  
_Definitely mad_ , thought Byron.  
  
***  
  
Link knew the moment he heard shouting from the campsite. He had just finished his evening ride. It was a routine he added when he began travelling with a company. Epona always got restless from holding herself back all day just so the other riders’ mounts could keep up. So, at Malon’s prodding, Link would take several laps around the camp every night at her full gait. It served to secure the perimeter and tire her out so she would not pick a fight with the other horses. A pity the riders were not as manageable.  
  
He fed an apple to Epona and left her by the tree with the other mounts and arrived at the campfire. Little to his surprise, Link found Fezzik putting poor Lysander in a chokehold. Gremio was tuning his lute while the new rider, Byron, watched helplessly with eyes as wide as a frightened rabbit.  
  
“So I’m Goron faced? Well let’s see how well you do with a Zora face,” Fezzik said to Lysander, whose face was indeed turning the hue of a Zora’s.  
  
The party only noticed Link’s presence when he cleared his throat. Fezzik immediately released his hold and stood at attention. Lysander wheezed for a bit but gave a nod towards Link. Byron’s fright turned to awe, not knowing if he should stand. Gremio grinned and strummed another tune.  
  
“So, what’s on the menu?” Link sat on a place made for him by the fire. At that cue, Fezzik and Lysander returned to their spots, each relieved.  
  
“Kinaton stew, specially made by yours truly,” Lysander advertised as he filled a bowl and handed it to Link. The stew was warm and rich with Lon Lon milk. There were certainly perks to travelling with a group.  
  
“Delicious as always Lysander.”  
  
“Yeah well, enjoy it while you can. It’ll be salted jerky and hardened cheese by the time we reach the valley.”  
  
“That’ll still be better than what they serve in the desert,” said Fezzik. “I heard the Gerudo eat living scorpions.”  
  
“It’s actually quite tasty.” Link said it without a second thought but then he noticed the looks the circle gave him and hastily added, “That’s what I’ve heard at least.”  
  
“Umm…Sir-er-Captain Link,” said Byron. That must have been the first time Link ever heard the new recruit speak. “Is…is it true that the Gerudo are all women?”  
  
A sudden mirth took the entire company. Lysander nearly choked on his stew from snickering. Gremio strummed his loot with a knowing smirk. Even Fezzik was trying to suppress a booming laugh. _We all know where this is going._  
  
“Yes…well, most generations of Gerudo are born female. Their culture trains their daughters to be fierce warriors of the desert. They usually live in separate clans each governed by a chieftain, while a circle of wise women governs from lands sacred to their culture. Once every century or so, a boy is born, and that boy is made king of the entire tribe.” Link recalled his experiences from the years that never were as he said this.  
  
“And look how well that turned out, yeah?” Fezzik muttered.  
  
“B-but if the Gerudo almost always girls umm… how do they, you know?” Byron’s words sent another wave of suppressed laughter amongst the riders. The boy himself had a face red with embarrassment.  
  
“I know what?”  
  
“I-er…”  
  
“I think our poor innocent recruit is asking how Gerudo women can have little girls when there’s few to no Gerudo men to share their bed in the moon light,” said Lysander. “It’s kind of hard for virgins to articulate such questions. I guess he has another thing in common with you Fez-…”  
  
Link shot Lysander the glare he reserved for battle and stopped the man mid speech. The last thing the captain needed was another fight between those two. Lysander also needed to learn that he cannot be an instigator just because Link was present to hold Fezzik back. _Sometimes I wonder if the court knew those two might kill each other._  
  
“The Gerudo race is almost always female, but they allow men from other populations to join their tribe. The girls born from those unions are always born with the red hair and the brown skin of the Gerudo. Sometimes they take mates from other desert tribes such as the Zuna. In less pleasant times, they would abduct men from raiding settlements even in the Hylian territories. These days, they give asylum to men from the kingdom they deem worthy, sometimes criminals who want a fresh start, sometimes men who fancy the ferocious life of a desert thief. These men live under strict laws made by the women but they are still considered part of the Gerudo Tribe.”  
  
“No wonder their last king was a damn traitor. His bloody father was probably some deserter, yeah?” said Fezzik.  
  
Link grimaced, he was still unsure about the welcoming they’d get from the host of the Gerudo Fortress. The last time he visited the desert was nearly seven years ago, just after he got Darunia and King Zora to bear witness to the king. He never witnessed what happened to Ganondorf, he only heard from the owl sage that the king of thieves was captured before he could rebel and taken to the fate of all who would darken the Sacred Realm…whatever that meant. Link never inquired further on the matter. He was content with the knowledge that Ganondorf failed to acquire the Triforce of Power and he had averted the years that never were, even if the rest of the realm did not know. Link had spent the next seven years doing what he was good at doing until he was again a grown man and made a knight.  
  
Now, they were sent as emissaries of the king to reopen diplomatic relations and that in itself was strange. Ever since Ganondorf was captured, the Gerudo retreated to the desert. Link had heard that the entire kingdom was in a state of fear for the next four seasons. There were rumors of a Gerudo army preparing to strike Hyrule Castle in order to free their king, there were rumors that the king would invade the desert to punish the Gerudo for the actions of Ganonodorf. Hyrule expected the worse, another great war perhaps. However, none of that came to pass. The Gerudo never invaded. In fact, they were seldom seen at all. The king bolstered patrolling of the western border in Lanayru until reports of increasing Bokoblin raids in the eastern provinces began popping up.  
  
So why should the King of Hyrule extend an arm of peace to the Gerudo after nearly losing his head in receiving theirs? Lysander and Fezzik were certain that this was some political trap for Link, devised by a conspiracy of nobles. If there was one thing those two shared, it was their _lofty_ opinion of the land gentry. However, Link knew that it was the counsel of Princess Zelda that sent them on this journey. The king had given more value to her words after the she helped reveal Ganondorf’s designs. It was her advice that kept him from exacting retribution on the Gerudo. The rest of court cried for war despite many of those same dignitaries vouching for Ganondorf’s character when all they knew of him were the rare treasures of the desert that he filled their coffers with. Zelda convinced him to not make war unless the Gerudo attacked first. The small folk and smarter lords praised her for it, calling her the wise princess. Years later, as a maiden flowered, she convinced her father to make peace with Gerudo so that Hyrule may better guard against the more prominent threats both within and without. She felt Link and his company suited for the task of delivering the olive branch.  
  
They talked and jibed for another hour but soon the fire died down and weariness took hold of the party. Link took the first watch for the night as he usually did. The other riders drifted to slumber. He noticed Byron holding a satchel to his heart as he slept, a precious something from home no doubt. Link patted a pouch on his hip where he stored his own keepsakes from two of the most important people in his life: a fairy ocarina and a dainty scarf with a bronze dragon head slide. _Guess we have some things in common._  
  
Then it dawned on Link that Byron was naught but a year his junior, at least by most people’s reckoning. After the years that never were and the years of three days, Link often forgot what his actual age was supposed to be, that to the casual observer, he was a young man as green as the clothes on his back. This played out in his favor more than once, when his adversaries made the fatal mistake of underestimating him in battle. More often than not, it reminded him that even amongst other Hylians, he was different.  
  
He had friends across Hyrule and beyond, there was a stead for him to spend his days of rest, and fiery haired Hylian maiden with whom the time he spent he treasured with a passion. However, he seldom gave his friends much chance to repay the countless favors he did for them, he never could think of the ranch as a home, and even with Malon, there was a piece of his heart that he kept hidden. She noticed it too as she had told him one night when they were cuddled together and gazing at the stars through the hayloft. It was not just the years that never were though. It was something that could be summed up in a single phrase.  
  
_I live for the fight_. He had realized that a while ago, in the midst of a long bout against a Bulblin chieftain. That feeling people referred to as being at home was something he felt in the swing of his blade, the clang on his shield, the echoes of an unexplored cave, the vibration of the bow from a released arrow. Home was always a fleeting instant that went as quickly as it came. Sometimes he could find his home in a restful tune on his ocarina or in the time he spent with Malon. However, he inevitably found himself missing the call of the field and the thrill of the unknown.  
  
***  
  
Two days passed. The air became drier, the grass became sparser, and the land began to slope and jut into hills and cliffs. On the horizon, Byron saw the escarpment of the plateau that bordered Hyrule and the desert. The guay flew overhead to inspect the travelers and field peahats rose to the sky to in a warning display as they passed. However, the company treaded carefully enough to provoke no attack. They rode with Link at the front, followed by Fezzik and Gremio abreast, and Lysander and Byron at the rear. Lysander, not being fond of silence decided to chat with the young rider.  
  
“You know, I didn’t really take our captain seriously until the day he stuck an arrow straight between the eyes of a Bulblin as far away as that shrub yonder.” He pointed to said shrub on a cliff close to the horizon. “That was before he got Fezzik in line.”  
  
“Fezzik?” Byron had never met a more dutiful man.  
  
“Yeah...as loyal as he is now, it wasn’t always the case. When he first joined up, Fezzik felt he had gotten shafted on his whole serving under the finest knight request. He thought that Link was a joke of a knight and that that nobles upstairs kept him as a means of sweeping people they didn’t like under the rug. So for the first couple of days he’d been passive aggressively mocking the captain. Then one day he upped it to a blatantly rude and that was the last straw. So the captain walks up to Fezzik all nice and calm-like. Then wham!” Lysander clapped his hands. “The next instant, he had the big guy on the ground locked in a painful arm hold. Then he made Fezzik sweep horse shit for the next couple of days. After that, Goron-face would gladly sweep after Epona without Link having to ask.”  
  
“You’re joking…” said Byron. Maybe he could believe the story about the arrow, but how could anyone the captain’s size take pin someone like Fezzik?  
  
Lysander shrugged. “Believe me or not, just don’t let him know that I told you that story.”  
  
Byron sighed. He had thought that the incident on first night was just a rare occurrence. The next two days convinced him that it was part of a routine. Each day, they would get into a squabble and nearly come to blows before Link stepped in to break it up. Gremio said it was typical when they were on the road. Byron still worried. Back at the barracks, this type of behavior would have been strictly disciplined by the master-at-arms. They were always lectured about maintaining coherency and camaraderie and showing discipline on the field. How could he hope to survive with this motley crew?  
  
Link halted the company and looked at Fezzik “You hear that?”  
  
“I smell it. Guess the gods favored us with a change of the wind, yeah?”  
  
_Hear what?_ Byron looked around. There was nothing but a couple cliffs and hills.  
  
Gremio dismounted and placed his ear to the ground. “Seven mounts, they’re making their move around the cliffs up northward.”  
  
Byron’s eyes widened, “Raiders?”  
  
“Well those aren’t horse hooves.”  
  
“I’d recognize that pig stink anywhere,” said Fezzik.  
  
Lysander sighed. “Musta noticed us passing by. Or maybe they’ve been looking for us this whole time. Ever since you killed that chieftain, seems like the Bulblins have it out for you, captain.”  
  
“Just my luck,” Link replied, “To arms! We’ll wait for them here.”  
  
Lysander stringed and notched his bow, as did Gremio when he got back on his horse. Fezzik brandished his war axe, his knife being too cumbersome for mounted combat. Link drew his own sword, a lavender blade with a black rose and green inlay etched on the flat. It looked more like a ceremonial fetish than a weapon for combat. Byron drew his blade as well, his heart thundered in his chest.  
  
“You know how to use that thing on horseback?” asked Link. Byron nodded.  
  
So they waited. Byron now heard the stomping from the direction Gremio pointed them in. Then they came into plain view riding on seven Bulbos, boars as large as horses. Their riders were green skinned with hunched horned heads, red eyes peaking between leathers caps and masks, long torsos dressed in skins and linens. Each mount carried two Bublins, one with the reins the other with a weapon. Two of the mounts carried archers while the rest raised clubs.  
  
“Take out their marksmen,” Link ordered.  
  
Lysander and Gremio both loosed their arrows. Lysander’s struck a Bulbo right through the eye. It skidded across the ground sent its passengers sprawling forward. Gremio’s shot hit the neck of a rider, who lifelessly fell still from his mount clutching the reins, forcing the beast to charge into the Bulbo next to it. With two arrows, they managed to cut seven mounts down by three. Link, Fezzik, and Byron charged the remaining four. Link’s sword flashed, beheading both the rider and the passenger. Fezzik’s axe cleaved the face of a rider while he ducked under a swinging club. Byron’s sword found the gut of a Bulblin whose club grazed his shoulder. Lysander downed the remaining pair by killing their mount.  
  
In the distance the Bulblins that were downed by the archer regrouped on their surviving mounts. Link ordered Fezzik and Byron to stay put and he spurred Epona forward towards the charging foes. He ducked low with his sword pointed back. A gleam of Force traced the length of the Great Fairy Sword. As his horse passed between the boars, Link swung. A razor arc circled him!  
  
The Bulbos slowed their charge to a trot. Their riders swayed for a beat. Then blood spurted from hidden wounds. Two heads and an arm hit the ground followed by four Bulblin bodies.  
  
In the distance, Link turned Epona about to face his handiwork. His sword had no trace of Bulblin blood as he sheathed it. Neither panic nor a bead of sweat marred his countenance. He only glared with slanted brows.  
  
“By Hylia,” Byron muttered as he surveyed the battle field. The only Bulblins still alive were in flight. Did they really do all of that? He looked at his blade, stained with blood. His instructors’ words echoed in his head and he quickly wiped his sword with some cloth before sheathing it. His heart still pounded furiously all the while.  
  
“First time you killed somethin’, yeah?” Fezzik asked with a hearty chuckle. Byron nodded meekly.  
  
“A bloody good shot, Gremio,” said Lysander.  
  
“A lucky shot,” said Gremio correcting. “I was lucky it dragged one Bulbo into another. At least you aimed for that eye.”  
  
The party regrouped, lining abreast before Link. “Is everyone alright?” When they answered in the affirmative he gave a sigh of relief. “Good, we should probably move on. Those stragglers might send more raiders our way.”  
  
“You think we couldn’t afford to tarry a while captain?” Lysander asked. He was eyeing one of the slain Bulbos. “I mean that fight probably worked up a fierce appetite in all of us, and just letting fresh boar meat go to waste seems like a…well a waste to me.”  
  
“It’s true,” Fezzik agreed. “Seems like an un-knightly thing to let good meat go to waste, cap’n. I don’t think jerky and cheese is gonna sate us after that workout. Also this is Byron’s first fight, we should celebrate with good meat tonight, yeah?”  
  
Link smirked. “I guess we have no choice. If you are willing to tie up and carry one of those Bulbos, then we should have a little feast tonight.”  
  
They ate well that night.  
  
***  
  
The ground turned to an orange dust. It was just past was dawn when they reached the path to the Gerudo Valley. Weatherworn flags marked the entrance through rocky wall. It was a narrow ravine carved by eons of wind and water long since dried up. They rode single file in the shadows. The morning sky was like a river peaking between to the towering uneven walls of sandstone. For a moment, Byron feared those jagged walls might close on them all, but then he heard the sound of running water and the passageway widened.  
  
They reached a clearing that overlooked the Gerudo Valley, which was more of a canyon that stretched even deeper than the ravine. At the very bottom was a mighty river. Refracted light dance off the misty water that cascaded down several cataracts until it vanished around a bend on its journey to Lake Hylia. The only means of crossing was a wooden bridge with no railing and planks spaced too far apart for Byron’s liking, right in front of them.  
Link halted the company. At first Byron thought the captain shared his opinion about the bridge, but Link hardly glanced at it. Instead he looked around the valley and at the buttes and archway across the gap. Then he addressed the riders.  
  
“Whatever happens when we cross the bridge, do not draw your weapons. Keep your horses steady and let me do the talking.”  
  
They answered with silent nods. Fezzik, Lysander, and Gremio took the order with a steel resolve. Byron felt slightly worried but the days he spent with the band had instilled him with more confidence. If anything else, they would not die like cowards.  
  
They crossed the bridge without incident. Just as they approached the entrance to the next ravine, an arrow buried itself in the ground in front of Epona, followed by four more next to it. They were surrounded. Swift warriors appeared as if from nowhere. All of them were women with red hair and brown skin, Gerudo. They wielded spears and swords with sharp curved blades the like of which Byron had never seen in Hyrule before. They wore strange cloths, sleeveless tops that bared their midriffs, trousers that were baggy around the waist but tapered around their calves, and veils over their mouths, all of which had angular patterns and amber gem facets. The colors matched their weapons. Five archers in white stood atop the cliffs. The seven bearing pole arms at the horses and riders wore violet garb. The three who carried were dressed in red.  
  
One the sword wielders stepped forward, removing her veil. “Is it courage or foolishness which brings these five Hylian riders to our doorstep on this lovely morning?”  
  
“I am…Sir Link. We are emissaries on behalf of the Royal Family of Hyrule here to negotiate peace between our peoples,” Link answered.  
  
“Well met, Sir Link. I am Aveil,” The Gerudo tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “Does the Royal Family dress all of their emissaries like fools, or just the one they send us?”  
  
“No, I just forgot to don my armor before we left.”  
  
Gremio and Lysander exchanged grins. Link often _forgot_ his uniform for most occasions.  
  
Aveil whispered an order to another red Gerudo who ran off past the cliffs. Then she turned to Link. “You’ll have to forgive our skepticism but for the last seven years, we expected the next we saw of the Royal Family would be a poisoned dagger.”  
  
Fezzik muttered something that Link prayed the Gerudo did not hear.  
  
“We shall take you before the chief and the wise circle. You shall make your case to them.” With that, Aveil sheathed her weapons and clapped her hands. The rest of the Gerudo took a relaxed stance. Link and the riders followed her to the fortress under the watchful eye of Gerudo warriors.  
  
***  
**Author's Note:**  
  
The goals of this fanfic are the following: writing a drama/horror with a little bit of comedy and romance on the side; exploring the character of Link, and how the events of OoT and MM would affect him as person and his relationships; exploring the ideas about the Gerudo such as how the unique aspects of their race affect their relationships with other societies; good suspense and actions sequences; writing convincing female characters; writing original characters that are not Sue-ish. Let me know how well I am doing in regards to these goals.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Zelda…if anything Zelda owns me. Why else would I be writing a fanfic instead of something that could make me money?

 

 

Chapter 2

  
About a ways in, Aveil had the procession halt and called out, “I know you’re there, Wren.”  
  
Three figures in garo cloaks landed in front of them. The one in the middle stood above the other two and removed his hood, revealing a scruffy but youthful face with red eyes and a knowing grin. Under his right eye was a black tattoo of a four-pinioned wing similar to the Hylian crest. His hair was dyed blue.  
  
“Aveil, well met and lovely as always,” he said.  
  
The Gerudo was unimpressed, “You know that you may not come to the Fortress without invitation.”  
  
“We aren’t in the Fortress.”  
  
“Then why are you here?”  
  
“The Village of Outcasts got word that Hylian knights had crossed the border to speak to the chief. Some of us are nervous that we’ll be extradited back to the hospitable Hyrulean gallows. I’m just here to see if that’s something we should be worried about.”  
  
“Worried that you have to answer for your crimes?”  
  
“Hey, a lot of us aren’t really bad people.”  
  
“If that’s so, then why did they put you in charge?”  
  
Aveil put her hand on her hip as she said this, her brows knotted with annoyance. Wren chuckled. Link looked back at Fezzik who shrugged. Gremio however, spurred his horse forward to take a closer look at the man.  
  
“I thought I recognized that name. Lightfoot Wren.” The old man’s words caught both Aveil and Wren’s attention.  
  
“You know this man, Gremio?” asked Link.  
  
“Aye captain, he’s a fugitive wanted for trespassing, theft of goods, resisting arrest, assault, and loitering. They managed to catch him once in a homestead in Lanayru, where they caught him trying to rob a young maiden of her virtue. Apparently her yelling gave him away so they said. That was the only time they had him in irons before he slipped out and was never seen again.”  
  
“Until now,” said Fezzik. He sneered at the thief.  
  
Link turned to Aveil, “Did you know about this?”  
  
“The story about the girl is…new.” She gave Wren a glare as she said that. “However, we are aware that he was a wanted man in Hyrule. Whatever his past crimes may have been in the past, Wren has proven that he is trustworthy enough to join our tribe. He is Gerudo, Sir Link, as are the rest of the men in the Village of Outcasts. If you tried to arrest him here, it would be seen as an act of hostility.”  
  
“We are here to negotiate peace, not collect bounties on criminals. We will not make such attempts to capture anyone who is under your protection so long as no actions are taken against us during our stay,” Link said not only as an assurance to Aveil but as an order to his men, especially Fezzik. They all nodded as he met their eyes. Aveil accepted that response and told Wren to return the Village.  
  
“You’ll be sure to tell Nabooru about our concerns?”  
  
“Of course, I’ll inform it to her as part of the reason we kept them waiting. I’m sure that will make her even fonder of you,” said Aveil with a roll of her eyes, but Wren nodded and disappeared with the other two rogues.  
_Red eyes_ , thought Link, _I wonder-wait…did he say Nabooru?_  
  
***  
  
Just as Link remembered, the fortress was an angular, pragmatic structure situated in the corner of the rocky wall of the valley giving it natural protection on the north and west. It was constructed of stacked adobe bricks and plaster with lintels holding the weight over each doorway. The only sort of ornamentation was the flag bearing the Crescent Moon and Star of the Gerudo instead of the Eyes of the Dragonfly that once hung there. The host of the fortress was gathered. The riders dismounted as they approached them.  
  
Link recognized her immediately, standing front and center of the ranks of sword dancers, glaive guards, and archers. She wore similar garb as before except her top was more modest, covering her bust and neck, with the same ruby jewel and embroidery. In addition she now wore pauldrons and a familiar pair of silver gauntlets with red gemstones set on the back of the hand plates. Her status as chief was marked by the gold tail feather of a kargaroc in her hair brooch.  
  
Apparently she remembered him as well. “Link?”  
  
“Nabooru, it’s been a while.”  
  
Link could not tell who was more stunned, his riders or the Gerudo. Aveil looked from him to Nabooru incredulously. “You know this knight?”  
  
“This _knight_?” Nabooru looked Link up and down. She smiled in a way that made Link blush slightly. “Aye it was a long time ago, but he aided me in a challenge that nearly took my life at the Desert Colossus. I, Nabooru, chief of the Crescent Star Gerudo, name Link a friend.”  
  
On that last statement, she addressed the host of Gerudo Fortress who gave a unanimous salute and grunt. Link scratched the back of his head and unsure how to reply to this kind of welcome. He was equally unsure how he would explain this to the riders. Fezzik and Byron were appropriately nonplussed. Lysander laughingly muttered something about him always being full of surprises. Only Gremio seemed unsurprised.  
  
“Umm…well met then,” Link said sheepishly. “So uhh…we are here on behalf of King Harken Gustaf Hyrule of the Royal Family to open diplomatic relations with the leadership of the Gerudo.”  
  
“I see, so you _are_ sworn to the Royal Family,” said Nabooru. Link realized how strange it must be for her, she had offered to make him a member of the Gerudo after the events at the Spirit Temple. “This is a rather unexpected choice your king has made. We have awaited some form of retaliation from Hyrule ever since the incident seven years ago.”  
  
“So this must be a pleasant surprise then?” Link asked.  
  
“Perhaps…but decisions such as this must be made before the wise circle.”  
  
Link understood. In lieu of a king, the leadership of the Gerudo was divided between the current chief and a council of elder healers, shamans, as well as former chiefs. The wise circle typically oversaw domestic affairs such as farming, weather reading, law, and medicine. The current chief of the Gerudo was tasked with hunting, gathering, and leading the tribe in times of war. When it came to decisions such as going to war or diplomacy between tribes, both the chief and the circle would meet to discuss the matter.  
  
“By the way, we ran into Wren on the way here,” said Aveil.  
  
Nabooru’s smile turned sour. “What does _he_ want?”  
  
“Just to say hi and hopes you consider the interest of the Village of Outcasts during the negotiations.”  
  
“I don’t suppose we could just hand him over to Hyrule.”  
  
“He’d just slip out of his shackles and come back here.”  
  
“I suppose you’re right. Prepare our guests to meet the circle. Then set up the embassy tents.”  
  
Nabooru made for the Fortress, leaving Aveil and several Gerudo to tend to Link and his band. Their horses were taken to be fed and stabled. Link asked Epona to behave herself as she was a led by a white-clad Gerudo. Next their weapons and concealed belongings were to be taken before anyone was allowed to meet with the circle. Lysander, Gremio, and Byron gave their armaments with little fuss. Fezzik however absolutely refused to relinquish his knife to the tall Gerudo before him.  
  
“Like hell I will!” he said. “It’s bad enough you take my axe and my horse but I’m not going to be sent to a den without my sword, yeah?!?”  
  
“This is our way, half-giant,” said the tall Gerudo. She wore iron gauntlets and had a similar uniform as Nabooru, only it was purple. “No one may see the wise circle with a sword in their hands. They are too precious to us to take any chances.”  
  
“Half-giant?”  
  
“That’s a refreshing attitude. Respect for one’s seniors is very rare these days,” said Gremio as he handed his sword over to a petite white-clad Gerudo, who smiled.  
  
“Or they’re just going to throw us in to some rottin’ prison after makin’ it so we can’t fight back,” said Fezzik.  
  
“Trust me,” said the tall woman. “If we were planning to do that, I would take your weapons after I had beaten you to a pulp, broke one of your arms, and pinned you into the dirt.”  
  
Fezzik raised an eyebrow and tightened his lips. He suddenly faced a conundrum. There were few men who could say that to his face and expect to walk away with a full set of teeth, but Gerudo or not the woman who taunted him was still in fact a woman. He only realized this now as his usual response that insult would clash with the knightly conduct that he aspired to. As much as he distrusted the Gerudo, he could not bring himself to strike a woman. Link decided to arrest him of this internal conflict.  
  
“Hand her your weapon, Fezzik,” he ordered.  
  
“Uh yes cap’n.” Fezzik took off his giant sword, sheath and all. As he presented it to the tall Gerudo, “It’s very heavy. You’ll need to carry it with both ha-.”  
  
She took the hilt of the sword and raised it above her head with just her right hand. Then she rested the sheathed blade against her shoulder and the rest of Fezzik’s belongings tucked under her left arm. The tall Gerudo walked away with a satisfied grin leaving Fezzik stunned and speechless. Lysander was on the verge of tears from fighting back a fit of laughter.  
  
“You were wise to step in, sir knight,” said an amused Aveil. “Falboora has fought with Dark Nuts twice the half-giant’s size.”  
  
“I have no doubt,” said Link. Even without the armor, he knew an Iron Knuckle when he saw one.  
  
***  
  
The wise women of the circle sat before them, cross-legged and hunched in the shaded chamber. The room was filled with a strong sweet scent from bronze incense trays that hung from ceiling. There were no chairs, the Gerudo preferred low tables with pillows for seats and recliners. The oldest amongst them was a very short and shriveled crone with silver hair tied in a bundle and her eyes closed, half blind, but still vastly more aware than others her age might have been. Nabooru sat to Link’s left while his riders line from his right their backs towards the door way.  
  
“Nabooru speaks highly of you, Green Hylian,” said the crone as she half opened one eye to get a better look at Link. “She says you helped her recover the Silver Gauntlets from the Desert Colossus and aided her escape of the sisters Twinrova. All of this when you were naught but ten years of age. When our king was captured, the sisters attempted to rally an invasion of Hyrule to either avenge or rescue him. Nabooru spoke against this rash course of action and gained leadership of the tribe. Many of our daughters owe their lives to her and you by extension.”  
  
“I’m glad to know that I was of some help to your people. Perhaps I can be of further help by building a bridge of peace between Hyrule and the Gerudo.”  
  
“Perhaps. However, before we proceed further with this discussion, I must ask: what has become of our king, what has become of Ganondorf?”  
  
Link closed his eyes for a moment then answered. “I did not witness his fate, but I was told that the Royal Family executed Ganondorf for treason.”  
  
There was neither wailing nor outrage. The wise circle whispered amongst one another but otherwise showed no indication of lament or pleasure to this news. Even Nabooru kept a stoic disposition, despite having no love for the King of Thieves.  
  
“I see,” said the crone sullenly. “Ganondorf was our king, for better or worse. More importantly, he was a child of our tribe. In the desert, we cannot afford to waste a drop blood anymore than a drop of water. Therefore every child is precious to the Gerudo. We chose not to wage war in his name because we could not bear more of our blood to be shed. Still we mourn his passing.”  
  
Link held his tongue. Try as he might, he could never forget the monster Ganondorf had become in the years that never were. Even if he could, Ganondorf would always be the man who terrorized the Zoras, starved the Gorons, and murdered the Great Deku Tree, the man who haunted his nightmares as a child. None of the other riders spoke either, though they held similar opinions. Even Fezzik kept himself silent thanks to a few choice words Link had shared with him before this meeting.  
  
“However, this leads us to another question, one more relevant to the subject of this meeting. Why has the King of Hyrule sent you here?”  
  
Link could have sworn he answered this before. “We are here to neg-…”  
  
“Yes yes, I remember that tale you have been telling us of peace,” she opened her right eye again, “But my question is _why_ has he deigned to reestablish ties to the Gerudo when he has more reason to wage war on us? Why does he send a company of five soldiers to negotiate peace when it would make more sense to send a host to demand our fealty?”  
_Clever old keese_ , thought Link. “You wanted to know if we were holding Ganondorf hostage, if we would ransom his safety for your servitude.”  
  
The crone closed her eye and laughed. The woman to her right spoke, “My boy, you do not live this long in the desert with just good looks. You have slain our king, yet you come here to make peace with us despite our betrayal of hospitality. It is only natural that we must suspect some ulterior motive for our demise.”  
  
Link tightened his fist. _This is not going well_.  
  
“However, Nabooru has named you a friend. You proved yourself trustworthy to the Gerudo. Proof of trust is what we require of one who makes words with our tribe be he a boy or a king. Tell me, how far would you go to bridge the gap between our peoples?”  
  
“As far as it takes,” Link answered without a second thought.  
  
“Careful, child,” said an elder next to the crone, “The desert is filled with the bones of those who promised more than they can deliver.”  
  
“I can say for all the water in the world that he makes no empty boast,” said Nabooru. Her eyes met Link’s and he knew she meant every word. Now he knew why Zelda wanted him to lead this mission.  
  
“Then we and Nabooru shall consult a task to suitably prove your tribe’s trustworthiness,” said the half-blind crone. “Until then, you and your company are guests to our hold; we shall provide you with food, water, and shelter. You shall be free to travel the grounds at your leisure save within the walls of the Fortress. May the Goddess of Sand smile upon your path.”  
  
Link thanked the circle and rose prompting, his men to follow suit.  
  
“One more thing,” said the crone. “I ask that neither you nor your men tell anyone outside this room of the fate befallen King Ganondorf.”  
  
Link looked at the riders, who each nodded to his wordless order and he turned back to the crone, “We shall not say a word, you have my promise.”  
  
***  
  
“And this is your pavilion, Sir Link,” said Aveil as she opened the entryway. She had taken them to a pair of tents east of the main village, which was south of the Fortress, that were raised to serve as their living quarters during their stay. Fezzik, Lysander, Gremio, and Byron had just been given their tent to share. Being a higher rank, Link was given a private tent.  
  
“Just call me Link, thank you,” he told her. He used the honorific to inform his status as a knight but it was embarrassing hear people refer to him with it.  
  
“Link,” Aveil repeated. She followed him in.  
  
The pavilion was furnished with all of the necessary provisions: a down filled cot with sheets, a storage chest detailed with intricate curving patterns, two low recliners with leather upholstery, a table holding up a water basin and silver goblets. There were two support beams adorned with Gerudo warding masks and dream catching charms. In the center of the room was a fire pit filled with coals directly underneath an opening in the roof flap. Flint and tinder, bellows, and pokers were arranged next to the pit. Link’s weapons and effects were laid out on a rug next to the cot.  
  
“There are some cloths better suited for the desert on your cot,” said Aveil. “Unless those tights are enchanted, they will not do you much good in the desert. You might want to take off that chainmail too. Is there anything else that you may need?”  
  
“Everything is fine, thank you Aveil.” Link examined the clothing laid out for him and decided to change into the baggier, light brown, desert trousers and keep the rest of his outfit intact. He took his hat off, followed by his leather gauntlets, boots, belt, tunic, chainmail. He was in the middle of taking off his undershirt when he noticed that the Gerudo had not in fact left the room. “Umm…”  
  
“Hmm?” she replied. “Is something the matter?”  
  
Link blushed. She could not be serious.  
  
“Oh…I see: Hylian modesty. Forgive my ignorance. My tribeswomen and I are used to being undressed in front of one another.”  
  
Against all odds, Link pushed certain _distracting_ images out of his head. Aveil faced away from him until he was redressed. He realized that she was looking him differently since their first meeting. She had a playful grin and eyes like a hawk searching a field for prey.  
  
“Is there any further business you have with me?” Link asked eager to have some privacy.  
  
“Further business? Right! Sorry, sometimes I just get lost in thought.” Aveil giggled and tossed her bangs. “At sunset, we are holding a banquet in the Fortress as a welcoming for you and your men. I trust you will attend it?”  
  
“Of course.” Link had grown accustomed to such receptions.  
  
“Good, Nabooru will be pleased. She hopes that this will ease the tension between your company and our tribe. Personally, I hope we can get a chance to learn more about each other. I’ve always wondered what life in the green is like.”  
  
Aveil had closed the distance between them as she said this. She stretched her arms back, which noticeably gave Link a better view of certain assets. There was even a certain shine in her eyes as Link fought to keep his vision focused on them.  
_Gods’ sake, she’s toying with me_ , Link thought. With a wink and a beat, Aveil left the pavilion and Link sighed in relief. It took him seven years to learn he was what women liked to call handsome. Malon had often teased him with how oblivious he was to the furtive glances and shy hair tossing maidens, widows, and even wives would give him. At least he better understood his own desires this time. Suddenly waking up in a man’s body with naught a bit of experience growing up had led to more than an awkward moment during the years that never were.  
  
***  
  
Aveil walked through a pass on the way back to the village. She wondered when he would actually show himself to her. Why were men from the green lands so shy?  
  
“So you fancy the captain of the emissaries?” said Wren. Aveil smiled and turned to see him. He was perched on the branch of a dying tree, as only he could do with the equipment he concealed beneath that cloak. She mused that the green landers were right to call him Lightfoot. He still had that cocky grin on his face that simultaneously annoyed and amused her.  
  
“Are you not forbidden from setting foot here?”  
  
“I’m forbidden from the Fortress and the embassy, but not the roads between them. So do you like him?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Sir Link the Green, the Hero of Hyrule. Who else?” Wren hopped to the ground and approached her.  
  
Aveil backed into a rocky wall of the pass, feigning vulnerability. “What makes you think that?”  
  
“Not much, just that I recall telling you all about Hyrule during our sparring sessions.”  
  
“And you thought that meant I fancied you?”  
  
“No, what you did when you had me pinned gave me that impression.”  
  
Aveil giggled as he leaned inches away from her. Wren had never complained when she won their bouts. As he placed his hand on the wall next to her head, she sprung. Grabbing and twisting that arm behind his back, she shoved him into the wall. He made no complaint this time either.  
  
“That’s the law of the desert. The winner can do as she wishes with the loser. I simply chose to indulge my curiosity.”  
  
“So why are you _curious_ about that knight?” Wren asked the question over his shoulder, still grinning. Annoyed, the Gerudo released him and backed up with her hands on her hips.  
  
“So who was that girl in Lanayru?”  
  
That disarmed him. The smile vanished from Wren’s face and he sheepishly scratched the back of his head. His red eyes betrayed a hint of melancholy. Aveil smirked in triumph.  
  
“She was the daughter of the farmer who was giving me shelter while I was on the run,” he reluctantly answered. “I knew they’d be punished for helping an outlaw if I was found out there, so I made a plan with them in case some riders came to the homestead. We made it look like I was hiding there without their knowledge. To avoid further suspicion that they were helping me, I feigned attacking the daughter in the barn.”  
  
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Aveil broke the silence. “I see.”  
  
“So you believe me?”  
  
“I have no reason not to. You’re too clever to let yourself get caught violating a weak girl of the green.”  
  
“Glad to know you have such confidence in my character,” Wren noted wryly.  
  
Aveil shrugged. She’d be dammed before letting him know how relieved she was to hear the truth. “What you did in the past is of little concern to our tribe, it is what you do and will do that we care about. The past merely informs the hazards of the present and the future.”  
  
With that, she turned away to leave, but stopped when she heard Wren speak sullenly, “Maybe I only care what _you_ think of me.”  
  
Aveil spun around to voice her retort but saw no one to receive it. Wren had vanished as was his talent. More importantly, he had vanished after having the last word. The Gerudo clenched her teeth and tightened her grip. She angrily turned about again and marched for the Fortress. _Sun’s heat, are all men supposed to be this difficult?_  
  
***  
  
“Give it back!” Byron shouted when he saw Lysander picking up his keepsake. He reacted on instinct. That only encouraged Lysander to keep the satchel out of his reach. What had just been a curiosity was now a source of entertainment for the licentious rider. Just as Byron made to grab his keepsake, Lysander leapt back with a wicked grin.  
  
“What’s this? The fledging rider has some valuable secret in this little pouch?”  
  
“Lysander, I’m serious. Give it back.” Byron’s cheeks were red now. He was used to hazing but this was extremely personal.  
  
“Oh I will, I just want to see what dark item our innocent little recruit has stowed away on his person. It’s soft…some lady love’s favor I’ll bet.” Lysander sat back down on his cot and untied the pouch to reveal a down-filled doll shaped like a three tailed fox. “Eh?”  
  
Byron’s heart nearly stopped. He waited for Lysander to burst out laughing and berate him, but the latter just stared at the doll. On the other side of the pavilion, Fezzik did not stir but remained cross-legged on his cot as he had been since they came here. Gremio lifted his head from his lute to observe the commotion.  
  
“Oh…is that Keaton?” the old man remarked.  
  
“Keaton?” said Lysander, unfamiliar with the name.  
  
“It’s a fox spirit in from songs and folktales in Eldin and Faron. It’s quite popular with children.”  
  
“You don’t say. Never heard of it in Lanayru. In Bippin, the mothers like to entertain their children with stories about the Minish.”  
  
“The Minish?”  
  
“You know the little folk. They were yay high,” Lysander raised his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger. “The Minish live unnoticed in the holes and small spaces of people’s homes. Legend has it that when you hang a kinstone above your threshold and leave a bowl of milk in the corner, the Minish will help keep the house clean and fend off pests…or something like that.”  
  
“Oh, you mean the Picori.” Gremio laughed, “That’s what we called them in Faron.”  
  
“Huh. Say Fezzik, what kind of creatures did you’re village tell tales about?”  
  
“Yeti…big hulking, white fur covered creatures that like to eat reekfish and bad children by cooking them in a soup,” Fezzik answered without moving. Drops of sweat were streaming down his face.  
  
“Are you ever going to take off that armor? I feel like I’ll die of heat stroke just looking at you,” said Gremio.  
  
Everyone else had changed out of their surcoats, chain, and platemail. They were now wearing white front-laced shirts and desert breeches that had been laid out for them with swords sheathed at their sides. Fezzik, however, had chosen to remain suited for combat.  
  
“The big lug just does not want to be taken unawares by that Gerudo who disarmed him,” jested Lysander.  
  
At that Fezzik got up. Lysander hastily leapt behind a dumbstruck Byron for protection. However the mountain man just carried himself to open flap of the pavilion, muttering “arse” as he passed the archer and left. The latter blinked.  
  
“Well that was…” Lysander knitted his brows, confused and almost disappointed. He looked at Byron, who was just as perplexed and handed him the Keaton doll.  
  
“Here, Keaton Boy. Don’t keep boring secrets.” With that, he left the tent.  
  
Gremio rose with the lute slung to his back. The old man told Byron not to worry and that plenty of recruits kept sentimental keepsakes with them even after leaving the Barracks. The youth thanked him and was promptly left alone in the pavilion. Byron sank to his cot, the Keaton doll in his hands, not at all relieved by Gremio’s words.  
  
When he was little, he would love to listen to the stories about Keaton the ghost fox, how it hid in rings of tall grass on the field and played tricks on stupid Wolfos. Byron would collect Keaton toys and trinkets that his family found or made for him. For the longest time, he would play pretend with the other children of his village running around and imagining himself as the three tailed fox spirit. It was not that he still liked to play pretend. It was just that he slept better when he had it with him. It reminded him of home.  
  
Byron sighed and lightly tossed the doll aside. Seeing the look on Lysander’s face, just reminded him that he was no longer home. In fact, he was as far from home as he had ever been. While other men his age were carrying a woman’s favor, telling bawdy tales, or leading a company of riders, he still slept clinging to a childhood keepsake. After everything he had endured at the Barracks, he could ride a horse, shoot a bow, and swing a sword, but he was no more knowledgeable of women and war and all those things Hylian men should know. Perhaps he was still playing pretend. Perhaps he was still a child pretending to be man grown. Or was he was a man pretending to still be a child? Gods!  
  
He reached for the Keaton doll lying beside him on the bed. He felt it resisting his pull and thoughtlessly looked back. A smaller hand was gripping the doll, belonging to a crouched cloaked figure. Byron’s eyes widened and he rose. The sneak thief took advantage of his surprise, snatching the fox doll from his hands and vanished beneath the flap of the tent!  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Byron dashed out and around the pavilion. The figure had a good head start, but the rider gave chase. That chase took them from the embassy to the village. The small and nimble thief dashed between stalls and under the legs of civilians. Byron navigated around such obstacles but he never lost track of the thief.  
  
They reached an area Aveil called the Water Plaza, so named for the well at the center that was dried up this time of year. The thief circled around the rim, too small to climb over it fast enough. That was Byron’s chance. He hopped on the stone edge of the well and vaulted forward, landing right in front of the thief, who yelped in surprise. She backed up only to lose her balance and fall. Her hood fell back, revealing a head of red hair, a pointed nose, and olive Gerudo skin. She could not be more than eight or seven years old.  
  
“Al-….alright,” said Byron between pants. “That’s enough. Hand it over. Come on, I chased you all the way here. I caught you fair and square-…I mean it’s wrong to steal! How would you like it if other people took your-…Why are you looking at me like that?!?”  
  
The Gerudo girl remained silent, unmoving, clutching the doll to her chest, and staring at Byron’s face for some reason. Her eyes were widened and her mouth quivered in an expression that bordered on panic. Then Byron realized that this child of a fearsome warrior tribe was absolutely terrified of him. For as long as he could remember, Byron never frightened anyone in his entire life. Yet here he was now, standing over child looking at him as though he would throw her down the very well he had jumped over.  
  
He liked it not.  
  
Byron looked around for moment, noticing the Gerudo, Zuna, and other inhabitants watching the commotion. Why was no one trying to helping her? Did they not just see a full grown Hylian chasing a frightened little girl? He shrugged off the questions and turned his attention back to the latter, who was still staring at him. He crouched down and looked at her eye level.  
  
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you. Just hand Kea-….what you stole back to me and you can go, alright?”  
  
The girl looked down pensively and then met his gaze and nodded.  
  
“Okay good. Now can you stand up?”  
  
The girl looked down again before nodding a second time.  
  
“Alright then.”  
  
Byron rose to his feet and extended his hand. Instead of accepting his help, the child handed him the doll and rose to her feet on her own. She looked up at him as if awaiting his permission to leave. Replying “thanks”, he held the Keaton doll up for a moment, examining the black tips of its ears, legs, and tails and feeling the down stuffed beneath the faded yellow fabric.  
  
“Ummm…do you even know what this is?”  
  
The girl gave him a queer look as if to say, “I’m not stupid, it’s a doll.” But she said nothing.  
  
“I mean do you know what this doll is called?”  
  
She shook her head. So Byron made up his mind.  
  
“I tell you what. This doll is called Keaton and if you promise not to try and steal anything else from me or my comrades, then you can have him.”  
  
The girl’s face brightened up.  
  
“So do you promise not to steal from us?”  
  
She eagerly nodded with a beaming smile. Byron silently said to goodbye to Keaton and handed him back to the little thief.  
  
“Would you like to hear the Tale of Keaton?”  
  
The girl nodded once more so Byron sat and rested his back against the dried up well. The little thief sat across from him, hugging her newfound friend.  
  
“There once was a fox with three tails called Keaton,” Byron began. As he told his favorite stories, several other children and even adults gathered. They joined the little thief to hear these foreign tales, fascinated by this odd Hylian man.  
  
***  
  
**Author’s Note:**  
This chapter was going to include more scenes. I intended to explain more about what happened with Gerudo during the seven years between the story and the game. Not to give away too much but there is a reason Nabooru calls herself chief of the Crescent Moon Gerudo. Yes, it is the Crescent Moon and four-point Star that earlier versions of Ocarina of Team had. Most importantly, I was going to introduce the quest Link will be going on with Nabooru. Unfortunately, bloody original character development took up more space than I intended it to. So we end on Byron chasing a little Gerudo child. The next chapter will actually move the plot forward a bit.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own not the Legend of Zelda franchise.

 

Chapter 3

  
Nabooru met Link on his way to the Water Plaza. “Well met again, Sir Link.”  
  
“Well met, and just call me Link, Nabooru,” he said.  
  
The Gerudo smiled. “Very well, Link. May I have your audience?”  
  
He saw no reason to refuse. The banquet began at sunset and that was not for another hour. He expected she would want to catch up with him at some point. Besides, from the number of people heading in that direction, it seemed there was a commotion in the Water Plaza. So they walked. To where, Link knew not, but he was always glad to see a friend from the past.  
  
“You are taller than before,” said Nabooru as they walked.   
  
“Time tends to do that to children,” with a few notable exceptions.  
  
“Indeed, though I never imagined a kid like you becoming a knight.”  
  
“So says the lone wolf thief that now leads the Gerudo.”  
  
She laughed. “I suppose no one can tell where time will lead us.”  
  
_Not unless you’ve lived it once before_ , thought Link. “No, it’s always a mystery.”  
  
“To be honest, I miss those days sometimes. The world was so much simpler when all I had to worry about was myself,” she mused, partially to herself. “Back then, there were no worries of droughts or rations or trading with the Zuna or war against the Loyalists.”  
  
“Loyalists?” Link stopped.  
  
Nabooru looked him in the eye then pointed to a flag atop the nearby cliff. Just like at the Fortress, it did not bear the usual symbol of the Gerudo but the same waxing Crescent Moon and Star, the same symbol on the Mirror Shield of the Spirit Temple. Link had not paid it much heed before but now he remembered that Nabooru had introduced herself as the chief of the _Crescent Star Gerudo_ rather than referring to the tribe as a whole.  
  
“There were many in our tribe who believed that we should not abandon our king when word told of his capture, as the Circle told you. When I gained leadership of the Fortress, the Sisters Twinrova formed a faction of those they consider still loyal to the ancient laws of the tribe.”  
  
“Koume and Kotake, those two are still alive?” Link forgot he had not slain them this time around.  
  
“It is said that they lived for four centuries,” said Nabooru. “I doubt they would succumb to age in seven years. Those witches are very powerful. They have a unique magic that utilizes their bond as twins.”  
  
Link was well aware of this magic, but it was from the years that never were. He said nothing as she continued.  
  
“Before I was born, they had once been exalted elders amongst the Gerudo until they were exiled from the tribe for their experiments in dark magic”  
  
“What sort of experiments?”  
  
“Manipulation of the living spirit, the force that composes will. You witnessed it when you saw them attempting to brainwash me.”  
  
“So that’s how they do it?”   
  
“Break the spirit of a life and you can control that life. The power of the spirit, its ability to remain defiant to the very end even when the body fails you, is most sacred to the Gerudo. They broke some of our most severe taboos by robbing men and women of their ability to choose. However, the witches managed to regain their influence when they brought a newborn to the doorstep of the Fortress. A newborn destined to be our king.”  
  
“Ganondorf,” said Link.  
  
Nabooru nodded. “They claimed the gods led them to his dying mother in the midst of desert; that they were charged with raising the next king to atone for their transgressions. From my experience with them, I would not be surprised if they had abducted the poor creature and ripped him straight from her womb.”  
  
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a grudge against them,” said Link with a grin. The Gerudo returned it.  
  
“They nearly made me one of their puppets. I think that’s a good reason not to like them. I took the role of chief to prevent them from beginning a fool’s invasion of Hyrule. So in a way it’s their fault I’m here. Well now they control the Loyalists, residing in the Desert Colossus.”  
  
_The Spirit Temple_ , thought Link. “So, there was a schism.”  
  
She gave another nod. “They do not out number us. The witches have only the Gerudo that returned from Hyrule, the loyal outcasts, and the people under their thrall. When Ganondorf was captured, the ties he forged with various tribes both beasts and blin broke down. They no longer cooperate with any Gerudo.  
  
“Make no mistake though. Many of the Fortress still feel that they need the king to lead them. They do not share my dislike for Ganondorf, but they stay here out of pragmatism. If they have any reason not to trust in my leadership, they will defect to the side of Twinrova. If they have reason to think that my trust in you is a weakness then they will not support ties to Hyrule.  
  
“There were many who disagreed with Ganondorf’s treacherous plot seven years ago and for good reason. It made enemies of potential allies and made friends turn their backs on us. The Dark Nut tribe refuses to even speak to the Gerudo now. After all, who would want to speak to those who spit on hospitality and feign loyalty? Rebuilding ties to those we betrayed may help us regain the trust of those we alienated. However many of our faction would oppose it if they knew what happened. They’d believe we would become puppets to the Hylians. Even now some wonder if that is what the Hylia- what _your_ king wants.  
  
“Meanwhile the Lizalfos grow bolder in their skirmishes up north. There are Moblins sighted moving down south. Even the Bulblins have taken an interest in scouting our territory. It’s because they’ve sensed weakness. They know that our sundered tribe is vulnerable. They think they can route us from this valley, the greatest source of water in the region that we have controlled for over a thousand years. It is like walking a tight rope over a bottomless pit, with billowing winds pushing me from every direction. If I lose my balance just once, I will fall.”  
  
“I can only imagine what that’s like,” said Link, although he had to risk falling into bottomless pits on numerous occasions. “But I think the Gerudo are much better off with you as their leader.”  
  
“Were you not listening to what I just said?” said a puzzled Nabooru.  
  
“You kept your people from fighting an unwinnable war. You salvaged ties with the Zuna. You even managed to hold the Fortress together for seven years even after losing your king. I think the lone wolf thief is a very adept leader of her pack.”  
  
At this they stopped walking, and Nabooru studied Link’s features. Then she smiled and her eyes gleamed with admiration and wistful longing. “You really did grow to be a handsome man, Link. I wish you had taken up my offer seven years ago.”  
  
Link felt his cheeks warm and scratched his head uncomfortably. Nabooru recognized this and chuckled.   
  
“So,” said Link, changing the subject, “If we help you take down the witches, then-…”  
  
“No,” said Nabooru. “That affair must remain between the Gerudo.”  
  
Link nodded. He could do it if he so wished. He could travel to the Spirit Temple and fight against the witches once again. It would probably be easier this time since he knew their ways and they lacked the reinforcement of their _son’s_ monsters and magic. However, he was no longer acting as the Hero, just a knight of Hyrule. The complexities of diplomacy usually eluded him, but Link realized that having an outsider resolve the civil war would ultimately hurt the standing of the Gerudo in the long run.  
  
“Then what task do you have for me?” Link asked.  
  
“That is what I wish to show you. We are here.”  
  
Here turned out to be the caravan of a desert nomad. It was large enough that it required four horses in rows of two abreast to pull. Upon closer inspection, Link noticed the bones of steeds on the ground beneath the harness and arcane symbols painted on the sides of the van. Overall it looked dilapidated, like something abandoned in the desert that would break at the slightest bump. The symbols looked fresh though, but that made it even less welcoming as they were red with streaks running along the along the decayed wood grain. He thought it empty until he saw the smoke rising from a small metal chimney on the top and flickering of firelight emanating from the slightly ajar doors of the cabin.  
  
Just as Link feared yet expected, Nabooru climbed up to the entrance of the caravan and motioned for him. He answered her beckon by placing his foot on the first step and griping a hinge on the frame as he prepared to lift himself up. Closer to the door, Link heard the raspy voice of the van’s inhabitant singing:   
  
“ _When the raven crows  
Where heartbeat shows  
Pendulum woes  
Then red death flows  
There shall ye find  
Lantern lofting Poes_ ”  
  
Then Link saw another figure from his past and future. Tending the flames was a hunchbacked man wearing a cowled lavender coat over a simple tunic, which was girded with a pattern depicting the Sacred Triangles. Both coat and tunic were stained and tattered at the seams. His limbs were almost as slim as the staff of Deku that he propped himself on, gripping it with gnarled hands and unkempt fingernails. Likewise the decrepit man’s bare feet also had protruding toenails, darkened and splitting the ends. Most notably only a single red eye peaked out from beneath man’s hood, an eye which seemed to glow but illuminated nothing. The rest of his face was obscured by an unnatural darkness that even the firelight could not penetrate. For that Link was thankful as he was certain visage under that cowl was as unpleasant as everything else about this strange figure. The Ghost Hunter looked up from his fire.  
  
“Ah Nabooru,” said the hooded man. “If I had known you were visiting, I would have brushed this place up a bit.”  
  
Link looked around the cabin of the van doubted that any amount of brushing would have made it any more presentable. Scattered across the floor were mushrooms, scrolls, a pot and pan, little clay jars, spilt ink, insects, feathers, and the bloody carcass of headless cucco. A rotten smell hung in the air. Spider webs and mold grew in the corners of the cabin. Bones and skulls and dried gourds hung from the ceiling on threads. Along the walls were shelves holding glass bottles. Some contained the souls of Poes that burned with expressions of agony, laughter, and rage. Others held what Link hoped were non-human organs in preservative fluids. This was indeed a lair of ill magic.  
Nabooru wrinkled her nose, just as unpleased to be here. “I assure you, I was not planning on it.”  
  
“Oh? A new development I see. Something to do with this handsome young man, perhaps? Your new consort? No wait… he is a knight of Hyrule. A pity, eh?”  
  
“If you read thoughts, then you already know why I’m here, necromancer. Keep up your impudence and we shall toss you into the middle of the desert!” she said with a raised voice.  
  
“My apologies,” he turned his _eye_ on Link. “So you are here for a quest, Link…heheheh…”  
  
Link did not reply. He felt just as uncomfortable dealing with this mind reader now as he had the last time. Fortunately, he knew how to conceal what this foul man had no business knowing. It was a trick he had picked up from Impa after he returned to Hyrule. Speaking of which, he was almost certain the Ghost Hunter was using a Sheikah artifact beneath that hood, a mask if he had to guess.  
  
“Hmm…awfully secretive are we not?” The Ghost Hunter gave a raspy laugh.  
  
“Just get out the map already!” said an irritated Nabooru.  
  
The Ghost Hunter said nothing more and rummaged through his inventory. The man hummed the tune of his song from earlier with a twisted glee. He paused to study a skull he had picked up, and then tossed it with a short mad cackle. Finally, he turned back to his guests with a rolled piece of parchment, sealed with blood wax. He placed his finger on the seal and spoke an unintelligible phrase. The wax unsealed and he presented the unfurled document to Nabooru and Link.  
  
It was indeed a map but not of Hyrule. The writing on it resembled the script at the Spirit Temple; however, Link had no means of reading it without Navi. Then he recognized the Gerudo Valley charted at the eastern most edge and the Desert Colossus marked on a northern mountain range. Realization struck him.  
  
“I thought the Haunted Wasteland cannot be charted,” said Link.  
  
The Ghost Hunter cackled. No doubt, he was still grinning when he replied, “Indeed, it is impossible to reliably map the western wastes in this era. However, this map is from an earlier time, just at the end of the Era of Prosperity, before the desert became haunted by dark and sordid spirits.”  
  
Then he pointed his bony finger at a specific point on the map. It was a settlement of some sort, a prominent one judging by the script beneath it. “This, my friend, is the lost city of Arradh.”  
  
“Never heard of it.”  
  
“That’s not surprising,” said Nabooru, “it was the capital of an ancient kingdom that ruled these lands in a time when Hyrule’s borders extended no further west than Mount Crenel. To the Hylians, it’s no more than a name on an old scroll in the archives of the Royal Family, but to the Gerudo, it is a legend. Arradh was once called the Gem Amidst the Sands. It was the most prosperous nation of this region, unmatched in wealth and might by any of the desert tribes even of this era. Then, as legend has it, the city fell over the course of one night. The rest of the kingdom dissolved in under a year, fallen to invaders beast, blin, and human, her people killed, taken as slaves, or forced to flee. Many of their great works went the way that all ruins go, quarried or repurposed, but the city of Arradh was lost to all but memory.”  
  
“Until I happened upon this map,” said the Ghost Hunter. “Eheheh…it was not easy. I shall spare you the details I gave the elders and just say that it took some prodding of the right spirits.” He gestured towards one of the glass jars filled with a Poe spirit. “Just imagine it. The ancient capital of a powerful nation, her vaults untouched since the night she fell, waiting for someone to claim her wealth.”  
  
“And only miles of a haunted desert and monsters standing in the way,” said Link.  
  
“Which is why I sought the strongest tribe of the desert to assist me in this venture. We reached an agreement. I show them the way to Arradh, and they guard me from the evils amidst the sands.”  
  
_No, there must be more to it than that_ , thought Link. Whatever the Hunter wanted, it was not as mundane as riches and treasure. Something was amiss with this deal. What would make this city important enough for the Gerudo to making dealings with him?  
  
Nabooru grudgingly thanked the Ghost Hunter for his time and left the cabin. As Link turned, he felt the bony hand off the Collector touch his shoulder along with the sudden urge to draw his sword hand. Instead he looked back at the latter.  
  
“You are good at keeping your secrets, lad; much more skilled than I would expect for one of your age. However, the fire of youth still burns in your veins. I can sense that you have some sort of familiarity with me, which is quite peculiar since I have no memory of you.”  
  
“We all have our secrets,” said Link.  
  
The Collector cackled. “Heheh…yes but mine do not weigh on my spirit the way yours do.”  
  
Link was tempted to ask what was left of the man’s spirit that he hadn’t already corroded, but was too weary to trade more words. He simply shrugged and left.  
  
“Until we meet again,” said the Ghost Hunter.  
  
“Pleasant fellow,” said Link sarcastically. Nabooru turned around and nodded.  
  
“A foul man, but one who offers us much. More importantly is the offer I’m giving you. Help us take the treasure of Arradh, Link, and we can trust the kingdom of Hyrule,” said the Gerudo.  
  
Link looked her in the eye. “Why are you working with this man when you know what he is? He uses blood magic and consumes the souls of the dead.”  
  
Nabooru sighed. “We normally wouldn’t deal with his ilk, but the lost city is very important to our tribe, to our history. The Ghost Hunter came to the Gerudo because he knew that, and we could not risk him bringing his offer to the Loyalists.”  
  
“But what does he want in return for leading you there?”  
  
“According to him, just a single treasure of his choosing; but I suspect that his designs are neither so simple nor humble.”  
  
“What? You think he might be dishonest?” Link joked.  
  
Nabooru grinned. “It’s not ideal but we will deal with him as the situation demands.”  
  
“So this is the task the Circle has for me?”  
  
The Gerudo nodded. “Help us take Arradh as an agent of Hyrule and our tribe will rebuild ties to the Hylian kingdom.”  
  
“I’m guessing this city is going to have monsters, traps, and curses guarding its treasure?”  
  
“It would not be much of a legend or a city if it didn’t.”  
  
At that Link chuckled and stretched his arms up before resting his hands on the back of his head. He had done haunted ancient cities before, that was not much of an issue. In fact he welcomed the chance to explore a monster filled lair. As much as he was loath to admit it, Link felt more comfortable exploring the depths of a cave than idling away in an embassy. The only thing that concerned him was the thought of his companions following him into those depths.   
  
“Kali, what are you doing here?” Nabooru asked in a tender voice. Link realized she was talking to a little girl with short red hair. She was clutching something to her chest. It did not escape Nabooru’s notice. “What have you got there? A doll? Where did you find this, Kali?”  
  
The girl said nothing but her gaze flitted to Link for the briefest of moments. He realized that she was afraid of saying it in front of him. Nabooru noticed that as well.  
  
“Did you take that from our guests at the embassy? You know the laws of hospitality are different from the laws of the desert, little one. Stealing even one trinket from those we give shelter to is a grave offense.”  
  
Blood drained from the girl’s olive face with guilt widened eyes. That was not an expression that Link normally saw on a Gerudo, but it was one that children have all the time. Then he eyed the doll in her arms and recognized its shape.  
  
“Is that Keaton?” Both sets of eyes turned towards him.  
  
“Y-you know about Keaton?” Kali asked shyly.  
  
“Know about him? I’ve met him,” said Link with a cheerful cadence. He stooped down to meet the child’s eye level. “How did you hear about him?”  
Kali’s mouth turned to a beaming grin, her chagrin now turned to awe. She looked at Link as though he were royalty. Then she recounted her adventure just an hour earlier, how the Hylian rider had chased her from the embassy all the way to the Water Plaza, how he let her keep the doll, and how he told her stories about the three tailed fox.  
  
“So that doll was Byron’s then?” said Link.  
  
Realizing that she had just confessed to attempted thievery, the Gerudo child went timid again. “T-they were making fun of him for it. I thought he was throwing it away and wouldn’t miss it. But he let me keep it a-and I promised not to steal anything from you again!”  
  
“Well that’s been settled then. If he gave it to you then it’s yours. Just remember to keep your promise to him. Keeping promises is as important to Hylians as it is to the Gerudo. Alright?” said Link. The girl happily nodded her head and giggled when Link tousled her hair.  
  
“Kali go back to your mother. This will be the last night you’ll get to spend with her before we depart,” said Nabooru. Kali bowed her head and left them.  
  
“Hard to believe such a timid child will become a warrior,” said Link as he rose.  
  
“She will learn to eventually,” said Nabooru, “After all, both her parents are Gerudo.”  
  
She had said the last part casually that it took Link a beat to truly grasp its meaning. His eyes widened, “You mean her father is Gan-…”  
  
“Yes, she’s one of _his_ daughters.”  
  
Due to their circumstances, the Gerudo were not as concerned with regal bloodlines as the Hylians. It was not as though he had just met their future ruler. However Link turned the thought in his mind, trying to picture that shy little girl being the daughter of that same fearsome demon of a man. The duty of the King of the Gerudo was sustaining the tribe as both a leader and as a father. He was the only male of the tribe who could choose his mates. Though it was supposed to be a great honor to bear his offspring, Gerudo women could still refuse him. However, Link strongly doubted that Ganondorf was the sort to accept _no_ for an answer.   
  
“Did you know him when he was that age?” he asked.  
  
“He was older than me but we were raised together.”  
  
“What was he like?”  
  
“He was…something of a brat. He always received larger portions of food and water during the summer droughts. I think that spoiled him, but life was not really easier for him than it was for any of us. In some ways, being the only boy in the village was isolating for him. However he cared about us, or he once did. He hated how the people of Hyrule had both water and fertile ground to live off of while we always had to struggle to survive. Ganny…Ganondorf would always talk about how he would one day bring us the lands of green and gold. He never specified how, I don’t think he had any idea then, but he sounded so sure that we…the other girls and I felt like he really would…” Nabooru looked upwards as she spoke, not at the stars but some nostalgic reflection. This was not the same scornful tongue she had for the King of Thieves back in the Spirit Temple, Link realized.  
  
“Then what happened?”   
  
“At thirteen or so, he passed his trials in the Training Grounds and horseback archery. The witches took him across the Haunted Wasteland to teach him magic. I do not know what happened out there. He returned seven years later a cruel and twisted man, but a charismatic one. He still made promises of bringing the Gerudo a new age of wealth and power, and he seemed to make good on them. He regained the grounds that we lost to the other tribes when our last king died. Furthermore he somehow established control over the demon-touched monster tribes. Something that none of our previous rulers could do. Even I had willingly followed him once. That is until…” Nabooru stopped herself.  
  
“Until…?” said Link, but instead she turned to him and laughed.  
  
“Well, it’s not that important. I realized just what a wicked man he was and what he would have us do.”  
  
The Hylian suspected there was more to her story, but he decided not to press the issue. Things were perplexing enough. How could someone like _him_ have once been a child? Or perhaps the better question was how could a child grow up to become someone like him? Ganondorf the King of Thieves, Ganondorf the King of Evil, Ganondorf the father of Kali and who knows how many other Gerudo children, Ganondorf the lonely young boy.  
  
That thought scared Link especially because he knew what it was like. He had lived without a fairy amongst the Kokiri. To have something – anything – in common with Ganondorf was just…but then they already _did_ have something in common. Or they once _had_ something in common, or they _could_ have had depending on the confusingly many ways he could look at it. It was all the same thing though: a piece of the Triforce. It was safely in the Sacred Realm now, but he had often wondered: if he and Zelda had reached the Triforce before Ganondorf, would it still have split as according to legend? If it did, would the Triforce of Power have gone to Ganondorf like it had? Nonsense! This was all idle speculation about things he need not worry about anymore. However, he felt like there was still some connection between him, Zelda, and Ganondorf. This only exacerbated his concerns.  
  
“So about Arradh…” said Nabooru.  
  
“I’m definitely in,” said Link, “but I need to speak with my men before dragging them into this. Speaking of which, I hope Byron did not get into any trouble with that stunt of his.”  
  
“I suspect quite the opposite actually. The banquet will start soon, shall we?”  
So they did. Link wanted to ask more about the lost city, however his thoughts drifted back to Ganondorf, Kali, and what Nabooru had said earlier: one of his _daughters_ …  
  
***  
  
“I didn’t need any of your help!” said Fezzik. They were at their places for the banquet, sitting cross legged on down pillows around a low table. The mountain man was now wearing the clothing he had previously refused to wear and he was none too pleased about it.  
  
“Believe me, it wasn’t a pleasure dragging your heavy arse back and changing you out of that armor,” said Lysander, “but we weren’t just going to leave you passed out in the middle of the village until the sun cooked you dead.”  
  
“What were you even trying to do anyways?” asked Gremio.  
  
“Eh…I’d rather not say.” Fezzik had been looking for the Gerudo he had argued with earlier when he passed out, but he did not want those two to get the wrong idea.  
  
“By the way, what were you up to Byron? It would have been nice to have an extra pair of hands to hoist this lug!”  
  
The latter was not listening as he had shifted nervously when he noticed a pair of Gerudo coyly whispering to each other while looking his way. That was happening a lot lately and he wondered if he was sitting the wrong way or wore his clothes in a silly manner, foreign customs and such. “Wha?”  
  
“Forget it.” Lysander rolled his eyes. Then he grinned when he saw Aveil approaching them. “Well well, if isn’t our comely captor?”  
  
The Gerudo smirked. “If isn’t my courageous captives? But where is my courageous captives’ captain?”  
  
“We’ve learned not to question Sir Link’s tardiness at dinner,” said Gremio.  
“Alright then, so how are you all getting along with our hospitality?”  
  
“As of now, I cannot say sitting so low to the ground all the time is doing favors for my back.”  
  
“My apologies lumber is not a common resource in the desert. We tend not to waste it on chairs outside the Fortress.”  
  
“Oh quite alright my dear, I should be used to a chair-less livelihood by now.”  
  
“Hey I’ve got a quest. Don’t the Outcasts have their own place to eat?” Fezzik asked. He gestured down the table to where Wren and two other men are sitting.  
  
“I’m afraid we do not deny a place at the evening banquet to anyone.”  
  
“Not even turncloak criminals and craven curs?”  
  
Aveil raised an eyebrow, “Does our giant mountain man take issue with whom he dines?”  
  
“I just think the Gerudo would do well not to let criminals dine with guests, yeah?”  
  
“Aren’t we all criminals to you?”  
  
At this, Fezzik grunted. Lysander rose and addressed Aveil with a wide smile and a cocked head, a knowing look from Gremio told Byron that this was the archer putting on his so called charm. “I apologize for my companion’s insolence he’s had too much of the sun you see.”  
  
“Well, we do get that in ample amounts.”  
  
“And I must say that you look very lovely.”  
  
“Feel free to say it as much as you like.”  
  
“You know I couldn’t help but notice the horse archery course in the yard at the fortress. I was wondering if we might try it out sometime just you and me.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“I don’t like to brag,” the cad lied, “but I was able to score perfect marks on the course at the Barracks.”  
  
Aveil smiled then slowly leaned up to Lysander. She gazed in to his eyes and looked as though she meant to press herself up against him more. Then she suddenly flicked his hair and backed away. In an unimpressed tone she said, “I should certainly hope so. Perfect scores are the bare minimum we require of all our archers. It would be embarrassing if the mighty Hylian Kingdom did not train great marksmen.”  
  
As she walked away, a stunned Lysander sat back down on his pillow. “I think I’m a masochist, because there was nothing about that I didn’t like.”  
  
Byron ignored the archer and got up after the Gerudo.   
  
“Aveil?” he called out. When the latter looked at him, he asked in softer tone, “Um, am I doing something that offends the Gerudo?”  
  
“Something that offends us?”  
  
“I mean uh…is there something about the way I’m sitting or the way I’m dressed that’s inappropriate. I’ve only asked because I’ve noticed a lot of   
Gerudo looking at me funny.”  
  
Aveil studied the youth for a moment. “You’re Byron, right?”  
  
“Uh yes.”  
  
“You were the man who chased Kali down the Water Plaza earlier today, correct?”  
  
“Was that her name? I mean I…didn’t know that story would spread so fast.”  
  
“It’s a very uncommon tale, a man chasing thief only to give her what she stole. It’s got several of our sisters talking about said man.”  
  
“They’re talking about me?” Byron gulped. Could he feel any more nervous?  
  
“Indeed mostly the ones looking for someone of suitable stock.”  
  
“S-suitable for what?”  
  
“Why to help them become mothers of course.”  
  
“To become-you mean-…oh gods.”  
  
She nodded her head. “Take caution of whom you speak to, Byron. There are thieves looking for more than just a doll in these lands.”  
  
Aveil gave the young rider a wink and took her place at the table. As Byron returned to his spot Lysander was about to ask him why he was pale when they noticed Link arriving accompanied by the Gerudo Chief. Fezzik rose to attention when the pair parted for their places.  
  
“Cap’n.”  
  
“You don’t have to salute every time I come to a table, Fezzik. There is something we need to discuss,” said Link. They excused themselves from the table to speak under an awning. Link told his riders about the city and the task Nabooru has asked of them. “I have agreed to join them on the journey but I’m not ordering any of you to come along. In fact I recommend that you remain here.”  
  
“Like hell I will,” said Fezzik. “I’m not gonna sit idly by in a fortress while my cap’n is riskin’ life and limb in this bloody desert, yeah?”  
  
“As much as I am loath to scouring scorching hot sands after we just got here, I’m with Mr. Mountain man on this one,” said Lysander. “Hell must be freezing over now.”  
  
“I mean it,” said Link. “This sort of quest is not the same as fighting bulblins on the fields. Getting through the Haunted Wasteland alive will be hard enough, but there’s no telling what we may face in Arradh.”  
  
“With all due respect Link, we’re not the sort of soldiers who flee at the sight of an ugly monster like sane men,” said Gremio. “If we were, we never would have been placed under your command. Just let me take my lute and I will follow you to the Peak of Death Mountain.”  
  
All eyes turned to Byron then, who looked over his shoulder and fidgeted with his fingers before timidly saying, “Um…unless you order me to stay Sir-er Captain Link, I’m going too. W-we have to show the pride and strength of Hyrule as well as prove the trustworthiness of the Royal Family.”  
  
Link sighed. He knew that Fezzik and Lysander were too foolhardy to listen to him but he had hoped that Gremio would whine about forcing an old man to cross the desert and that Byron would be too sensible to get swept up in Fezzik’s bravado. Perhaps it was just memories from his past dealings with the Ghost Hunter, but he had a bad feeling about this upcoming journey. Link ill liked the ambiguous nature of the deal struck between that vagrant and the Gerudo, but it was not just that. He felt some foreboding about Arradh itself. The more he thought about it, the more he worried. A city that died over one night does not host any common evil, if such a thing even exists.  
  
He shrugged. “In that case, I order all four of you to return from this mission alive.”  
  
“Yes Sir!” the riders said in unison and they turned for their places.  
  
However, Link tapped Byron’s shoulder and the latter paused. “Sir-er Captain Link?”  
  
“I heard you had some trouble with a thief taking something of yours.”  
  
“Um yeah, it was just a keepsake.”  
  
“I believe it was a Keaton doll?”  
  
“Yes,” Byron reluctantly admitted.  
  
“It’s alright we all like to keep pieces of our homes with us. And Keaton is a really popular character in Kakariko. Looks like he’s about to become popular here too.”  
  
“Well, I kind of really adored him growing up. My old man even got me a Keaton mask back when he was just a soldier. I don’t know how he found the time to go to Castle Town and get i-...”  
  
Link suddenly burst into a fit of laughter that confused poor Byron. “I’m sorry I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just your story reminded of something…heh. Go on back. I’ll join you in a minute.”  
  
The young recruit nodded and left. The green clad captain mused to himself. So many ghosts of the past today, _someone_ up there must have a cosmic sense of humor. Then he laughingly followed after his men.  
  
Link took his seat with the company. Everyone quieted down as Nabooru offered a prayer to the Goddess of the Sands, then the chatter started up again as dinner was served by white-clad Gerudo starting with the guests. Contrary to the rumors, the Gerudo served no scorpions, living or otherwise. Instead they had mundanely foreign dishes such as a paste made from chickpeas spread over thin wafers of unleavened bread, beef and beans and lettuce encased in a pliant flat bread wrap, cooked vegetables and meat served on spits, and finally flaky pastries dipped in honey. For drinks, their cups were filled with distilled liquor that had a strong smoky flavor. According to Aveil, a key ingredient in the mash was a plant unique to the region.  
  
“Not too bad this Gerudo whiskey,” said Fezzik. It was several hours later and most of the dinner guests had retired for the night. Gremio already left for the embassy, but the other Hylians still lounged.  
  
“That must be the first Gerudo anything you’ve ever taken to,” said Link.  
  
“Eh…it’s not the Gerudo I ha-…well it’s just that I don’t… about…yeah?”  
  
“I think it’s time you and the rest of the company turned in.”  
  
“Aye cap’n!”  
  
They rose and left in the direction of their pavilion along. Link felt a pair of eyes on him, however he watched Fezzik stumble, the big guy’s gait supported by an equally intoxicated Lysander on one side and Byron on the other. The latter was not so much inebriated as he was wary of the furtive glances and increasingly insistent invitations by several Gerudo to drink with them.  
  
“That one is a bit nervous?” Aveil noted. She had moved around from her place across the table to the vacant spot on Link’s left. He noticed the slight rosy tinge on her cheeks.  
  
“He’s fresh out of training.”  
  
“I take it he’s still a virgin?”  
  
Link chuckled, “I don’t normally ask my subordinates about that. All I know is this is the farthest he’s been from his home as well as his first trip to the desert.”  
  
“So what about you?”  
  
“Not my first trip here.”  
  
“That wasn’t the sort of _first_ I was asking about.” Aveil tilted her head. “Are you still one too?”  
  
Link sighed. “Being more direct are we?”  
  
“What? I’m just curious. Is there a woman of the green that the gallant Sir Link is sweet over; some frail Hylian girl with blonde hair and blue eyes from whom I could steal the affections of a handsome young man?”  
  
“Heh…actually her hair is red and the last thing I would call her is frail. She raised the horse I now ride.”  
  
“Just my luck…” Aveil poured herself another glass of the desert drink. “So there’s really no chance I could steal you from her?”  
  
“Sorry. Not without tying me up and stowing me away in a tower.” Link quickly prayed he hadn’t given her any ideas.  
  
“Meh… I couldn’t do that. Nabooru would be upset with me then.”  
  
“Glad to see that you have your priorities sorted.”  
  
“Well there once was a time when that was perfectly acceptable to do. Spear maidens and sword sisters would take men captive for those who wished to become mothers. It wasn’t until Hyrule that anyone could challenge us on the matter.”  
  
“I’m aware of the histories.”  
  
“It’s funny how there are some things our people have done that we’re no longer proud of. We did them to survive but…I don’t know. The spirits are getting to me.”  
  
“That and it’s getting late.” Link looked up at the stars.  
  
“Indeed it is. I should get some sleep, since we depart on the morrow.” Aveil rose to her feet and Link rose to his. “Well until morning sir knight. I hope that Hylian girl is as strong as you say she is. I couldn’t abide losing something I wanted to a weaker woman.”  
  
With that, the Gerudo sword sister left. Relief washed over Link as he made his way for the embassy. At least that issue was out of the way. However, the one who was spying on him had not yet left and he grew tired of waiting.  
  
“Are you going to show yourself or not?”  
  
In response, Wren emerged from the shadows. “Either you’re good or I’m getting rusty. I was actually _trying_ not to be seen this time.”  
  
“Is there some reason you were stalking me?”  
  
“I suppose it’s because I’m just a little smitten with your pretty blue eyes,” the male thief jested.  
  
“Get in line.”  
  
“She’s interested in you because Nabooru trusts you,” said Wren. “I know of no other man who did that: gaining the trust of the Chief Gerudo. Naturally that makes you very attractive to her because she respects and loves her Chief so much. So much so that Aveil would rather break things off with a man she fancies than see disappointment in her dear sister’s eyes.”  
  
_You sound quite saddened by that._ “I suppose you want to learn how to gain Nabooru’s trust.”  
  
“Admittedly, I haven’t done myself any favors with my antics but I’m used to being distrusted wherever I go.”  
  
“You mean as a thief or as a Sheikah?” Link smiled when Wren’s brows arched.  
  
“Heh, perceptive, I guess you really are the same boy I saw Impa training. That means you were one who helped Zelda bring down Ganondorf?”  
  
Link instinctively looked around for eavesdroppers.  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I don’t fancy the thought of going to war,” Wren continued.  
  
“So why did you turn to thievery?”  
  
“Well for one thing, the skills we’re taught makes me very good at it.”  
  
“Not good enough to avoid being caught apparently…unless you let that happen.”  
  
“What kind of thief does that?”  
  
“I don’t know; the kind that can escape capture easily?” said Link. Wren’s act didn’t fool him. He found it hard to believe one of the Shadow Folk would just turn into a vagrant so easily. “What makes a Sheikah abandon his duties for selfish pursuits?”  
  
“Duty,” Wren mused. “That was all the Shadow Matron used to drill us about. I’ll tell you. If there’s anything that’s been the cause of the Tribe’s decline it’s the notion of duty.”  
  
“So you’re saying the reason the Sheikah exist in the first place is the same reason they are dying out?” Impa would tear her hair out if she had heard that.  
  
“The Shadow Folk were founded to serve Hylia and later to serve the ordained bloodline of her chosen people. Now growing up with that stigma drilled into your head is not exactly healthy but it’s bearable. However when serving the Royal Family means doing what we did during a much darker time, a period of war, paranoia, and greed…well the Royal Family may have clean image now but we are never allowed to forget what we did. When pursuit of the Truth and Duty becomes all that matters, then you find yourself invading peoples’ very minds and staining your hands with their blood.  
  
It’s not like we’re much better now either. I’ve seen how lords abuse their people, and I was ordered to not do a damn thing about it. Our purpose was to defend the Royal Family from scheming nobles, not their subjects. I wasn’t supposed to be a good guy or a hero, just a Shadow. Maybe I didn’t want to be that. Maybe I wanted to keep my damn humanity.”  
  
Link sighed. He was well aware about the darker periods of Hyrule’s history. He’d seen the torturous devices the elaborate catacombs beneath Kakariko. He heard stories surrounding the Gossip Stones, the Mask of Truth, and the Shard of Agony and how they were used to spy on the populace and seek out hiding places of the persecuted. Link was also familiar with the vices amongst land gentry. Many of them were the same nobles whose heads were on pikes in the years that never were. He knew Hyrule was still better off, but more than once he had to restrain himself when he saw a lord tormenting commoners. He also knew what it was like to live a life with a heavy burden. But he never considered just turning against the entire kingdom.  
  
“How is it more humane to be a thief or assault an unarmed farmer’s daughter?”  
  
“It’s not, but I only stole from they that were stealing themselves and unlike them, I didn’t horde what I took.”  
  
“I’m sure you spent it all on plenty of things.”  
  
“On food and medicine and other things, sometimes they were even for me. As for the girl…well I’ve got no excuse that I’m willing to tell. Just call me a monster and be done with it.”  
  
_A monster is all too willing to excuse his actions when it saves himself._ Link crossed his arms. “So why are you spying on me again?”  
  
“I suppose I’m trying to figure something out. How does a ten year old boy manage cross a vast desert in the west after climbing a huge mountain and searching the bowels of a giant fish when they were both on the other end of Hyrule?”  
  
“There are ways of crossing a country with a song.”  
  
“Songs that only Impa knew, which she had never taught you as far as I know.”  
  
“It’s a long story.” _Which you wouldn’t believe anyways_ … “It’s not as though you’re concerned about the Royal Family or the secrets of the Sheikah anymore.”  
  
“You’re right. This is just plain curiosity on my part.” Wren threw his arms up, as though surrendering. “The Gerudo are my people now, and they are my concern.”  
  
“You wash your hands of the Sheikah for their past transgressions only to adopt the ways of a people who have their own fair share of the same?”  
  
Wren chuckled. “I never thought of it like that. Thank you Sir Link. You’ve given me something to think about. Well, I look forward to working with you tomorrow.”  
  
As the Sheikah walked away quietly, Link asked, “What do you know about Arradh?”  
  
The lithe form beneath that garo cloak stopped in his tracks. Without looking back, he said, “Just the tale of how it fell. It’s a common folktale here: the Tragedy of the Prince of Ruin.”  
  
***  
  
At the eye of a storm, the moon shined upon a Gem Amidst the Sands. Pale light washed over derelict buildings, shadowed windows, empty wells, crumbling walls, and open gates. To the common eye, the city was abandoned. Truer eyes would see that this was far from the fact. He stirred from his dreams of gleeful bloodshed and rapturous torment. He stirred because through all the relived screams and terror, he chanced a gaze down the river of Time. He stirred because what he saw gave him reason to wake for it promised something his kingdom had not seen in such a long time: visitors.

***

**Author’s Notes:**

The Gerudo liquor is supposed to sort of be mezcal. It’s a distilled spirit derived from the agave plant, kind of a relative of tequila. I say “supposed to sort of be” because I did not want tie the Gerudo too strongly a real world culture to the point of appropriation. The food I wrote about is derived from Mesoamerican and Middle Eastern dishes. The idea is that the Gerudo, being a desert dwelling culture, would develop food similar to real world desert dwelling cultures. Indeed I think the design staff of Ocarina drew from both Mesoamerican and Middle Eastern sources when they designed the Gerudo. Consider it a cultural form of convergent evolution.

Oh yeah and there was supposed to be plot and character development somewhere in this chapter…I guess that’s sort of important too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Somewhere in the multiverse is a reality where I actually do own the Legend of Zelda franchise, but it’s NOT this one.

 

Chapter 4

 

Fezzik cursed the desert for neither the first nor the last time. He had woken up that morn to an aching head and waves of nausea. The very thought of breakfast had made him dry heave. After a lurching trip to a ditch and downing a well of water, he could now walk properly and only the light of the sun made his head hurt. Unfortunately the desert had the latter in spades along sand that got into… _places_.

He bore the discomfort with a grunting walk, passing by Gerudo who were busy at work loading their caravan. He scowled at the male thieves that loitered about watching the desert women at work and not even offering to help. Cowards, deserters, and lay abouts the lot of them were! They were too lazy to do a decent man’s work so they turn criminal. They were too cowardly to face justice when found out so they turn coat. Even here, they were too selfish to help out the ones who took them in so they just stand there. They were no better than those nobles that leech off their subjects in Hyrule.

Then he saw her; the Gerudo for whom he searched yesterday, nearly dying of heatstroke in the process. She was the same on who embarrassed him. He had unfinished business with her.

The tall Gerudo had just finished loading a large suit of armor and had her eyes on a giant axe when she noticed Fezzik’s large frame approach her. She smirked and cracked her knuckles.

“Half-giant.”

Fezzik banished his indignation so that he could do what he had to do. Without warning, he stopped in his tracks and bowed.

“I apologize for my improper behavior yesterday. It was unbecoming of both a rider and a gentleman. No true knight of Hyrule would show such disrespect to even their greatest enemy, much less those they seek peace with. As part of my contrition, I humbly offer my services in loading this carriage, yeah?”

The Gerudo raised her brows and chuckled. “W-what’s your name again, sir knight?”

The rider looked up from his bow. “My name is Fezzik, miss. I am not a knight yet. Just a rider.”

“Well met Fezzik, my name is Falboora. You can help me with the axe."

Said battleaxe was larger than anything in the Hyrulean armory. Even with his own strength, Fezzik could not imagine how anyone could swing it without being thrown off kilter. However he did not complain. As they started loading nearby crates, some Outcasts gathered to watch them. The Hylian rider ill liked that.

“They’re just perplexed that you asked to help me,” said Falboora when he inquired about them. “It’s customary for men to only assist when specifically requested.”

“You have to ask those lazy curs in order to get them to help? Sounds like they’re more trouble than they’re worth, yeah?”

“Yeah? No, they are not allowed to assist in such preparations unless they are invited to.”

“What?” He nearly dropped the crate they were hauling.

“For a man to assist a woman without being asked or ordered is considered stepping out of line. For a man to just blatantly offer to help is considered disrespectful. However, to be allowed to help and participate is a sign of trust. Whenever we prepare for raids or expeditions, the Outcasts gather in the hopes that they might be asked to help.”

“That’s ridiculous! A man should always offer to help a woman with strenuous tasks,” said Fezzik.

They stopped loading and Falboora tilted her head. “Perhaps that is how things are done in Hyrule, but doing so here presumes you do not think she is capable of the task at hand. Here, the only time it is acceptable to help someone unbidden is either in combat or when she is at death’s door. And it is just as disrespectful for a woman to assist man without his invitation too. That is our way.”

“So…when I asked help to you…” Fezzik realized. “I was being rude again, yeah?”

“Heh, well it was a mistake born of ignorance and one that new male recruits have made before.” She beckoned and they resumed work. “Tell me, what is the difference between a rider and a knight?”

“Well a knight is a mounted captain in the Hyrulean army as well a noble warrior. A rider is mounted soldier, higher than a footman but still subordinate to a captain. Once a rider has proved his worth an’ deeds on the field, he may one day be granted knighthood.”

“And what does that mean? To be granted knighthood?”

“It means to be part of an order that has served the Kingdom since her founding. It means carrying mantle of the Hero honored in the crest of the Royal Family. To be a knight is more than just bein’ a soldier. It’s a vow to defend the realm an’ her people.”

“You’re quite the romantic…” said Falboora as they loaded the last crate. “It reminds me of the vows I took as an Iron Knuckle.”

“You take vows as well?”

“We are sworn to use the strength granted by our training and gauntlets to defend our tribe. We are the sentinels who ward against beasts, blin, and men who would harm our mothers and daughters.”

“Daughters?”

“Momma!” A little red haired girl ran up and hugged Falboora, who picked her up. Though Fezzik recognized the child not, the fox-like doll she carried looked familiar.

“Well, one daughter in my case. It is almost time for us to leave and I have some farewells to say. Until next time, Fezzik.”

With that Falboora carried the little thief away to an elderly Gerudo who had brought her here. Fezzik stared dumbfounded as the three embraced each other, exchanged words, and the mother handed her child to the grandmother. The trio walked off to say their final goodbyes like a knight saying farewell to his father and his son before setting out on a quest.

 

***

 

“We’ll be ready to leave within the hour,” said Aveil.

“Good,” Nabooru kept her gaze forward at the dunes. “Are all our hands accounted for?” 

“Twenty Outcasts, sixty spear maidens, forty sword sisters, fifteen archers, ten Iron Knuckles, ten elites including you and I, and five Hylians. In total, our caravan will be one hundred sixty strong.”

It was a bit large for a raiding party, a bit small for a sortie but hopefully enough to complete the journey without leaving the Valley defenseless. “Our supplies?”

“We have water and rations to last the host, including our late arrivals.” Her lieutenant went on listing the other necessities such as tents, rope, tools, medicine, all of which still matched Nabooru’s count when last she took stock.  “For explosives: three powder kegs, fifty bombs, ten bombchus…”

“A pity we couldn’t get more.”

“The merchant said that his stock was low this season and a bewitched rug can only carry so much.”

“Hmph…any stirrings on the outside?”

“No Moblin sightings since last week. The Lizard folk still remain nested. We haven’t heard word of any Loyalist activity but…”

“But?”

“Two Outcasts and three spear maidens were caught trying to steal horses and supplies. We think they were planning to cross the Waste. We don’t know if they are defectors or spies.”

Nabooru cursed. The lack of Moblin sightings was better news, though she would have preferred ten weeks of such news to one. However the Lizalfos only encroached upon territory they deemed abandoned. Since the schism, she could not maintain as many outposts as she had used to. How long until they take one? And five traitors last night? Had they been spies for the witches all this time or were they incensed by a possible treaty with the Hylians? She knew not which truth she would prefer. Either way, it would mean more people lost faith in her. The last thing she wanted was to return to find her fortress overrun.

“Hang the two men, they were merely lackeys. We can learn of their plans from the spear maidens.”

“I’m certain Ambelyne can take care of interrogating them,” said Aveil. She tried to pass it off as merely assurance but her superior read her too well.

Nabooru smiled. “Worried I might leave you here?”

“No…” Her cheeks faintly blushed. “Well…maybe a little.”

“There is no change of plans. You’re one of my best raiders out in the desert. Besides, you know how to handle the Outcasts.” Her lieutenant smiled back at that. Aveil had always looked up to her when she had taken charge of the Gerudo.

She looked back at the preparing caravan and she grimaced when her eyes fell on the Ghost Hunter’s occult wagon. It looked every bit as repugnant in the light of day as it had by torch and moonlight. Just from seeing the skeletal horses that now drew the carriage, uncertainty plagued her. Trusting that cackling fool was a gamble, but she had little choice. If it really was Arradh, then it might just have what she needed. Perhaps the arrival of her old friend was sign that this was the right choice.

 

***

 

Wind roared in their ears like the spirits of the dead as the sand bit their eyes. For three days they had crossed through an expanse of sandy dunes towards the unmoving, unending sandstorm on the horizon. Link had explained to his men what that storm was when they noticed it still raging on the morning of the second day. Now they were officially within the domain of the Haunted Wasteland.

Fezzik, Lysander, Gremio, and Byron all took to heart their captain’s instructions: never stray too far from the caravan and always beware the sand that shifts on the ground. They trudged with their equipment on their backs like everyone else, having left their horses in the care of the Gerudo stables. The only steeds present were the Gerudo stallions pulling their supply wagons as well as the stalkind pulling the Ghost Hunter’s coach. They could hardly hear each other over the winds, but the Gerudo host somehow kept their company together, even when they made seemingly needless turns and twists.

After an eternity, they arrived at a derelict stone structure. It was one of several respite stations established by the Gerudo. Though too small for the host above ground, it was actually shaft to an enormous underground chamber. There they established their camp for the night.

“I feel like we should be up there too, yeah?” said Fezzik looking up at ceiling whence the muffled shrieks of the wind emanated. They were gathered around torches. The smoke ventilated out via grates and chimneys built in the surface structure.

“Day time in the Wastelands is less hot, but night is as cold as ever,” said Aveil.

“Besides, they say listening to the desert howl for too long can drive folk insane,” said another Gerudo.

“Bloody hell…why would anyone want to even move through this place,” said Lysander.

Aveil grinned. “Normally, most tribes avoid this region. The Gerudo, however, have established a route through it to reach our sacred grounds, the Desert Colossus. Those seeking to prove their worth as leaders must cross the Haunted Wasteland alone to take the trial of the temple.”

“By the gods… alone,” Byron said incredulously.

“It is necessary to ensure that our chieftains have the skills to pass the two trials in their crossing: the River of Sand and the Phantom Guide.”

“A river of sand? This place might as well be a bloody sea,” said Lysander.

“She means a large stream of quicksand that bars the path to the Desert Colossus,” said Link who took a seat next to them. “In order to get past it, one must either be able to cross the gap without touching the ground or she must be very good at hauling herself out of it with a harness. The Phantom Guide requires one to be trained in seeing the Truth.”

“The Truth?” Byron had heard that term before in his hometown.

“The ability to see what is concealed by mystic forces. In the Haunted Wasteland, spirits can beguile travelers with illusions and mirages, leading them astray until they become lost.”

“You know much about our ways, Hylian,” said the other Gerudo. She was a head shorter than Aveil and a hand wider, but just as fit as her comrades, with a head full of red ringlet curls and pouty lips.

“Anyways,” said Link, quickly changing the subject. “We are heading to a different location.”

“Arradh…they say that it shined in the sunlight in its heyday,” said Aveil. “Ages ago, before the Haunted Wasteland existed; their kingdom ruled every oasis and spring that could be found. As a result their coffers were filled with treasure: gold, silver, gems, rupees…tributes from the traders that crossed their lands.

“Then came the day when their great king learned of a terrible prophecy from one of his oracles:

_The first of thy seed shall spill the last of thy blood,_

_The prince shall bring ruin to the gem and her people_

Thus was uttered the omen of the Prince of Ruin. That very day, the king of Arradh was told by a general that his wife the queen was with child. Troubled by prophecy, the king secretly had the newborn killed shortly after birth.”

Fezzik shifted and Lysander mouthed a curse. Gremio listened intently with a bard’s fascination. Link noticed Byron’s hands quickly grasped for his absent Keaton Doll. The other Gerudo also noticed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Believing he had bested the gods, the king got his grieving wife with her second child. The prince she bore him was said to have been a wicked boy, however he paid no mind as he was now blind with hubris. Unbeknownst to him, the first child had been sired by one of his trusted generals, whom the queen loved.

“They say the prince grew up with no love in his heart. The queen had become too melancholic and withdrawn. The king set his sights on expanding the reach of his dominion. Neither paid much thought to him. Though he had talent in the arts of war, music, and magic, he found no attachment to either. Instead he took pleasure in watching the tortures conducted within the dungeons. It was not too long until he began working his own designs on creatures of the royal menagerie. Such behavior disturbed the sages of Arradh’s court but the king waved it off as a passing fancy.

“Meanwhile, the city of Arradh became more and more corrupt. The natural spring that sustained the city began to dry. Drought, plague, and famine became seasonal occurrences, and her king’s remedy to these problems was to rob from his tributaries in order to sustain her. This turned ally to enemy, and sowed discontent in his subjects. The people whispered that some evil took place in the heart of Arradh, cursing their kingdom.

“The prince grew up learning all the proficiencies he could. His sadism became more refined as he learned how to turn people against one another by revealing the secrets they preferred to hide. They say that this drew the attention of demons who taught him great sorceries. Whatever the case, he revealed his mother’s infidelity to his father the king, who summarily executed his wife. This in turned, incensed the general to rebellion, that he might avenge his beloved.

“He rallied allies amongst his martial comrades and those disenfranchised by the kingdom. In the end though, the general and his armies found the city bereft of life. Over one night, not one soul within her walls survived. No one knows exactly what happened only that it was related to the prophecy of the Prince of Ruin later learned by the general in his dreams. The wealth of Arradh could not be recovered, for few of those who ventured within her walls and none who braved her vaults ever returned.

“As the kingdom broke apart and her survivors struggled, the Gem Amidst the Sands became lost within the Haunted Wasteland. None can now find it save those who already know the way.”

As Aveil finished her story, Link’s company looked to one another. None knew what to say. The fire they were gathered ‘round dimmed and dwindled, as though the tale she just told invoked things of cold and darkness.

Lysander repeated his curse. Then he asked, “So…if no one can find it, how can anyone actually know the way?”

“They would have to learn it from the dead.”

“Hence why you’re chief’s consultin’ that purpled-hooded wretch, yeah?” said Fezzik.

Aveil hugged her knees to her chest at that remark. She liked not the giant man’s doubtful tone.

“We have faith in our leader.”

“The Gerudo seem to know this legend well,” said Gremio, quickly changing the subject.

She nodded and went on. “The history is written in our blood. When the capitol fell, the rest of kingdom quickly collapsed. With her armies in disarray, Arradh’s enemies born from the enmity of her harsh policies seized the opportunity. The tribes of blins and beast folk invaded from the outskirts. The Arradhite refugees became their playthings. Some were killed like beasts. Others were enslaved. However legend tells that a strong leader managed to rally the survivors and make a pact with a powerful spirit in the desert. Thus did the People of the Gem become the People of the Sands.”

“The Gerudo…” said Link. “Arradh was the homeland of your ancestors.”

 

***

 

On the next day, they left the stone building and continued to follow the path of said wretch’s advice. Then on the next couple of days they had no shelter and had to sleep in tents huddled together for warmth while others stood watch in roaring waste. Between the sound and the cold, the party got little actual rest. Even Link seemed to have a wearied look in his eyes during the day.

Perhaps it was due to this fatigue and thirst that Byron failed to notice the spinning green things charging him until they were just a foot’s reach. He dodged their spines by a hair, vigor reopening his eyes. They sank beneath the sand as he drew his sword. Through the dim light, he only saw three of the six things reemerge, spinning towards him. He swung, slicing two and dodging the third. Something rushed past him.

He looked back to see a Gerudo spear maiden and an Outcast had come to his aid. Each had two dead green lumps including the one he had failed to kill. Byron then realized the creatures had attempted to surround him, their sounds masked by howling sands.

“Um…thank you,” he said sheepishly.

“I’m glad I could help.”

The Gerudo hefted her spear up with the impaled body creature. Only…Byron could now see that it was not an animal but a plant of some sort with razor petals and a fleshy body not unlike a Peahat.

“Leevers,” she shouted to the Outcast, who nodded, sheathed his weapons beneath his garo cloak and sprinted to the head of the caravan.

“Leevers?” said Byron.

“They tend to live close to water, which means there may be an oasis nearby.”

The spear maiden removed her purple veil and looked the Hylian in the eyes. She was the same Gerudo who had been with Aveil at the shelter. She grinned, resting her hand on the curve of her hip.

“I’m Shanika by the way, though you may call me Shani.”

“Um…I am called…uh Byron.” The look in Shani’s eyes nearly made him forget his own name.

 

***

 

“What do you think it is?” Lysander asked.

“Beats me, it looks like some sort of idol, yeah?”

From a distance, it had appeared an oddly shaped stone in the outcrop of rocks. Up close they could tell it was figure made of rusted and worn metal. Time and sand had turned all a dark brown color, but the carved details of a face remained framed by an ornate headpiece of darker material that almost looked like a crown. It almost looked as though it was winking at them.

“What kind of weird ass gods would _its_ makers worship this?” Lysander shook his head and walked back to the oasis.

For whatever reason, the sand storm of the Haunted Wasteland did not encompass natural reservoirs of water. This made them pockets of calm in which daylight peered down between the walls of wind and sand. Upon reaching the oasis, they had warded off the Leevers, Guay, and Kagarocs until the caravan was now parked by the waters.

Though they were all grateful for the restful peace, there was something eerie about the way the storm still raged less than a mile from the camp. It neither moved closer, nor further but just kept swirling where it was just as when they had first crossed into the tumult. Even more unsettling was how not a sound, breeze or even a wisp of sand flew in their direction when, by all the laws and logic of the world, they should still hear the howls of the wind in the distance. It was almost as if some invisible wall surrounded them now, one that admitted them in but barred entry of the storm that they could watch it carry on in a muted fashion.

On their way back, another group of Gerudo came up and requested Byron’s assistance in some menial task. Again, he hesitantly agreed and followed them to help set up a pavilion. Lysander rolled his eyes at the scene.

“Look at the poor recruit being taken advantage of,” he said to Fezzik.

“That’s not what’s happenin’ actually.”

“Huh?”

“Eh…never mind, let’s just report back to the Cap’n.”

“So how do you think he knows so much about the Gerudo?”

“Don’t know, maybe it’s from reading books. That’s a thing you should try some time.”

“Pfeh, too much work,” Lysander spat at the sand.

The sun was well past its zenith and nearly close to setting. In a couple hours time, they would make their camp fires and have dinner, then hole up in tents to keep warm in the cold of night. Lysander had noticed that some of the Gerudo had favorite partners for that part and the way they would act around each other seemed a little more intimate than simple camaraderie.

Truth be told, he missed having a company of blokes to chat with about such things. Being around all of these women had made him feel self conscious. Fezzik was just too knightly to make any lewd gossip. Byron was still too green. Gremio could tell some bawdy tales but he often rambled at times. Of course Link was not the type to mingle about things like that. Lysander once thought to try spending time around the Outcasts however they looked at him like he was their executioner.

_Funny thing considering I was in same boat as them_ , he pondered.

 

 ***

 

“Link,” Malon moaned before her lips met his again. His hands roamed over her body feeling her curves through her dress. Likewise she felt up the taut muscles on his broad back while running a hand through his hair. They were wrapped around each other on the floor. Every moan and murmur he could elicit made him want to go further that he could bring her even more pleasure.

It was only as he moved to remove her top that Link realized that he was no longer entangled with Malon but Nabooru. He looked up around the room and noticed a veiled threshold on the other end. It was right past a very nervous Byron and a smiling cheese vendor.

Looking back down at Aveil, who had somehow replaced Nabooru, Link rose to his feet and made his way to the veil. It had a pattern more reminiscent of a Gerudo tent flap, which clashed with the rustic cabin-like structure of the room. For some reason Link thought this normal and pushed through it.

“Wait,” he heard Byron shout, but the latter was not longer there. In fact he was no longer in a cabin.

Link now stood in the street of a bustling city, but not one he knew. The buildings were made of adobe and sandstone bricks that were bright and pristine with ogive arches and elaborate moldings. Round spires rose in the distance topped with pointed domes that shined like diamonds in the sunlight. The greatest of these structures was splendorous palace at the center of the city. Palm trees lined the paved roads and walkways fed by pools and fountains between them.

Then Link noticed the inhabitants. They looked Gerudo with brown or olive skin, gold eyes, and red hair. Yet both women _and_ men with these feature peopled the streets, going about their lives and paying the Hylian no heed. The men dressed in robes of blue and brown, many had faces framed with red beards though none had a complementary mustache like some Hylians preferred. The women were girded in silken garments that seemed design more for style than practicality. Children danced and played between the merchants and soldier dressed in simple robes.

Link walked through the oblivious crowds until his eyes fell on the back single boy standing in the middle of the street. Suddenly the sounds around him faded to a light ringing despite the city seeming as busy as ever. He wanted to look over his shoulder to see what was causing the muted silence but his gaze remained fixed on the child.

The boy turned about face. He looked to be ten years of age and was dressed in more regal attire with baggy pantaloons, a vest, and a gemmed circlet on his brow. His face wore a smile that Link ill liked, as though he knew a forbidden truth.

Suddenly, Link felt the hair on his neck stand on end as he realized that the fell youth was staring directly at him. The world around him darkened, the blue sky was now a bloody red and the sun was black.

Then he heard of horrible shriek and turned to see total chaos. The city was being ransacked by its own people. Men, women and children set upon each other like rabid beasts. A pair of women had overpowered a young man. One forced herself on him, screaming in ecstasy while the other lustfully slit his throat. A young boy tore his mother’s throat with his teeth. Three men had just beat and elderly man to death when they turned on each other. One stabbed his fellow in the back only to have his eyes gouged out by the third. There was no camaraderie in adversity. No alliance lived past the next victim. No one pleaded for mercy or salvation. They simply laughed and howled as they vandalized, violated and assassinated one another while all around them the rooftops burned, bodies and debris filled the streets and blood clouded and defiled the waters of the fonts.

The scent of ash and death filled Link’s nostrils. He should have sprung to action by now. In his heart he knew that. Normally he would have drawn his sword and shield then do _something_ to put an end to the violence and to save lives even if he had no clue what he could have done. Instead he stood witness to this macabre spectacle. Yet the performers paid no more attention to him now than they had before.

In fact the only one who took notice of him was the boy…no, a young man around Link’s age now stood in the latter’s place. He almost looked like a more youthful Ganondorf except his form was lithe and his expression sly. None of rabid denizens paid him any attention.

For a moment, Links vision blurred. He could not tell when the people of the city ceased surround him and the stranger but they now stood gathered even when their wounds should not permit them. What disturbed him more was how each and every one no longer had a face, but instead a gaping concave hole that no light escaped. Streaks of crimson ran down their chins and jaw lines, trickling into bloody pool fed by their _tears._

Feeling the grisly warmth of the pond at his feet and unnerved by the hollow faceless stares, Link’s heart sank when he saw the young man clutching the nude form of Malon. Her skin was icy pale. Her face was locked in a look of shock with her mouth hanging open and her glazed eyes widened in an unblinking stare. Her body remained motionless with her hands at her sides even as the youth groped her breast with one hand while the other reached between her thighs…

With that last straw, Link gritted his teeth in a wolf-like snarl and he surged forward. But something held him back. His limbs were held by sallow decayed hands on arms that grew from the bloody ground. Unable to escape to their deathly grasp, Link tried to turn his head only to find it locked by another pair of hands. Cold clammy fingers stretched across his face digging in to his flesh and prying his eyelids open so as to force him to watch.

As his eyes welled up, he saw the head of Malon’s corpse tilt. Its eyes continued their lifeless gaze but the blue lips of its mouth now moved. It spoke a raspy whisper that somehow ears from across the distance and above the raging inferno:

“The way is barred, death beckons.”

 

***

 

Those words still echoed in his mind even as Link’s eyes opened. For a moment he believed he was still amid that horrific scene. As his vision dried, he saw the canvas of his tent and remembered the truth. Sitting up, Link’s skin prickled as the cold night air chilled the tears on his cheeks.

Link made an empty chuckle between short breaths. He almost never had pleasant dreams. When they were not prophetic visions of dangers to come, they often drudged up memories of his more traumatic battles or made up situations that played on his worse fears.  The vivid imagery would haunt his waking thoughts as he tried to figure out which those three the nightmares had been

His heart still thumping, Link rose from his bed mat, donned a tunic and leggings, and slipped out of his tent. The moon hung amid the stars several hours past its zenith and casting its nearly full waxed reflection on the waters. He could still smell the hints of the extinguished campfires which glowed with naught but cinders. The faint desert breeze carried the cries and caws of Guays from across the oasis. It was so quiet that he was nearly startled by Gremio’s voice.

“Up early captain?” the elderly rider was sitting on a mat he had laid out with a small lantern glowing by his side.

“Well met, Gremio,” said Link. He walked over to the latter and sat himself down. “I hope you haven’t been awake all this time.”

“Oh, these old bones just get restless sometimes,” Gremio chuckled as said, “I often find myself waking up at odd hours and find it difficult to get back to sleep on occasion. It’s no problem though. I just spend a little bit star gazing and I’ll nod off. What about you?”

“I’m always restless,” said Link. He initially meant those words in jest, but they felt uncomfortably earnest as he spoke them.

The old man beamed, “Really? It’s hard to tell. You’re only the last of us to turn in at night and the first to wake up in the morning.”

The knight rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Back in the day, it was always a trial getting up. My best friend had to roll me out of my bed every morning.”

“Back in the day, eh?” said Gremio and Link realized he had done it again.

The captain rarely shared details about his childhood. When he did, he used terminology that made it sound like a far off memory. Sometimes Link forgot that he was an eighteen years old in the eyes of the rest of the world when in his mind, his life as a Kokiri was ages ago. Such slip ups never escaped the old rider’s notice.

Fortunately the latter changed the subject. “It’s refreshing not having to listen to that constant howl. You almost forget that we’re in the middle of an endless sand storm as long as you do not look at the horizon.”

“It is unnerving,” said Link looking at exactly that.

“You know…in my younger days, I met an ancient mariner from this coastal town called Lynna. He told me all sort of tales about his voyages across the open sea, a body of salt water more vast than a lake. He spoke of many fantastical encounters, many of which I suspect were fabrications or exaggerated by aged memory and his fondness for rum. However, I found many of his stories entertaining such as a pirate ship crewed by Stalfos-like pirates, an island of cannibalistic lizard folk, and a monstrous storm called a typhoon.”

“Typhoon?” the young Hylian was familiar with the sea but he had never heard of that kind of storm before.

“Yes, he described it as a beast whirling of storm clouds, hundreds of miles wide, with winds so fierce that it stirs waves as tall as mountains. It moves across the sea like a cyclone, growing as it does so, consuming ships and engulfing islands. ‘Woe to anyone who caught within such a terrible storm for they face a force that will uproot trees and send them to the heavens, all the while plagued by the cries of a thousand men and women,’ he told me.”

Link listened with a keen interest. If Gremio was trying to scare his captain with his haunting description, then he was failing miserably. Instead the adventurous hero wondered how exciting it would be to sail through such a torrent on a timber skiff. Better yet, what would it be like to _swim_ through it with the fins of a Zora? The thoughts sparked up that side of him that rejoiced in his dangerous trials; the wild part that Malon had once likened to unbroken stallion fresh out of colt-hood. It was his restless blood.

“But he also spoke of one spot,” the rider continued, “at the center of the typhoon. If you managed to avoid being smashed by walls of wind and water, you’d find yourself in an area of clear and calm yet surrounded on all sides by the ongoing storm. He called this region the typhoon’s eye. No rain or waves disturbed anything within this eye, there the waters were settled and the winds were but a breeze. Course since it moves with the storm, you’ll find yourself back in the midst of the beast after a momentary reprieve.

“I found that part of his tale farfetched. How could such a pocket of peace exist in the middle of a storm that could deforest acres of woodland in single day? Seeing this phenomenon in the Haunted Wasteland, however, I’m beginning to wonder if it is not too dissimilar to the eye of a sea storm.”

“Hmm,” said Link. “Perhaps something about the air keeps a moving storm clear in the center…and perhaps something about water keeps a standing storm clear.”

“Except typhoons eventually peter out and disperse like all storms. What has kept this storm alive for so long?” Gremio wondered.

“The natural world is ever changing,” Link mused. “Day to night, night to day, the four seasons, ebb and flow of the tides, the growth of the mountains by the shifting of the earth, canyons carved by wind and water…it’s all connected. So for something like this, there must be a great disturbance in the natural forces...”

Link fell silent. He could not finish his thoughts and he did not want to. Memories of that nightmare turned in his mind now and he knew there was some tie to the forces that plagued this land. He had seen it before after all.

The next morning, their journey resumed. Three days later, they found the lost city, and Link’s suspicions were confirmed.

 

***

**Author’s Notes**

This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one despite taking me longer to write. Part of that was just me being lazy. The other part was trying to get the cast through the damn desert. I suppose I could have just fast travelled them there but I felt as though I’d be missing out on an opportunity for more character development, because two chapters full was not enough! 

Seriously though, I spent some time looking up just how caravans traversed the desert. Essentially they relied on oases to keep themselves hydrated plotted their routes moving from one to the next. A good source of water is vital for any decent settlement but it is pretty much more valuable than gold for cultures that dwelled in such harsh dry environments. The Gerudo are like the Aiel and the Fremen when it comes to water whereas most Hylians take it for granted due the high standards of living they enjoy. Of course, the Haunted Wasteland is not your average desert area but oases still provide an auspicious respite from environmental dangers. Almost as though there’s something spiritually significant going on with running water…

Anyways, one reviewer asked me to write a sex scene in this fic. While I chose a rather high content rating for this story, I did not intend it to be a lemon. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not judging readers interested in erotica -which I neither confirm nor deny any occasional or regular perusal of my own conduct- however it’s not the goal of this fanfic. While romantic and sexual attraction will play a part in how these characters interact, it’s not the only kind of relationship people of the opposite can have (or people of the same sex for that matter). Besides most of the cast are about to find themselves in a situation where it’s not a good idea to just go at it. So I cannot really promise any sex scenes unless they fulfill the purpose of character development, world building, or plot advancement. Even if I do end up including some they will probably be more of the “off screen” kind of encounters with descriptions no more explicit than the beginning of the dream sequence in this chapter.

Speaking of which, super bit of foreshadowing there. Hopefully I made it the right balance of surreal, prescience, and squick that should give you an idea of what Link’s going up against. That’s right. There will be cheese vendors!!!

So this note is long enough. Please leave an honest constructive review and feel free to recommend this fic to others. Any flames should be funny as hell to read. I mean at least try to be more witty than “U SUK”. See you all next month or a year from next month.


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